


Chloe's Heart

by ellanorasedai



Series: The Hunt/Heart 'verse [2]
Category: Smallville, Supernatural
Genre: Crossover, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-21
Updated: 2011-12-21
Packaged: 2017-10-27 17:32:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 32,799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/298295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ellanorasedai/pseuds/ellanorasedai
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the continuing story of Chloe's adventures with Dean and Sam, Chloe and Dean become closer despite some extreme situations.  Chloe's inquistive nature continues to get her into trouble.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is the sequel to Chloe's Hunt, and is the second story in the Hunt/Heart verse. Be aware, the language is a little coarser, there is one slightly steamy scene, and a couple of fight sequences are just a little more detailed/graphic than the first story. (Though not graphic in an adult way.) I would say PG-15.

Chloe sat at the desk in the room she and Dean shared, typing furiously. A magazine that specialized in the paranormal and unexplained had expressed an interest in her work for their new website, so she was dusting off a few of her stories for submission.

 

It had been just over three weeks since Cold Oak; three weeks since she had been welcomed back by the Winchester brothers with open arms. They had been at Bobby’s ever since, Dean working on her Jeep; both brothers taking a much needed break from hunting. They had been so tired, both physically and emotionally drained after their showdown with the Yellow Eyed Demon, and with Jake, the man who had killed Sam. Chloe was not usually a vengeful person, but she was not sorry that Jake no longer walked the earth. She would never forget Sam’s death at his hands, how it had felt to see his long body being held up only by Dean’s arms, or the pain she had felt from healing him. She was glad also that the demon was gone, and that John Winchester had managed to climb out of hell. Chloe wished she could have been there to see him, see what the boys’ father looked like. From theirs and Bobby’s stories, she pictured a large, strong man with dark, firm eyes. A man who probably didn’t smile too often, but whom you would feel safe standing behind.

“Hey, Chloe, can you come down here for a minute?” She smiled at hearing Dean’s voice shouting for her, saved her work on the laptop, then left the room and headed downstairs to find him.

\-------------------------------

“Don’t even think about peeking!”

“Dean, you’ve got my eyes completely covered. I can’t see a thing.”

“Good. Step down now, careful; four steps…okay, stop.”

“Can I look now?”

“Go ahead, open your eyes.” Dean moved his hands, and Chloe opened her eyes to see her Jeep, sparkling garnet in the sunshine, looking brand new.

“Dean! Is she all done?” Chloe stepped forward and opened the driver’s door, seeing that the inside shined as much as the outside, upholstery clean, everything looking new and perfect, as if the crash had never occurred.

“Yep, all done, and running better than she was before, if I do say so myself.” He smiled at her proudly, and she flung herself at him, wrapping her arms around his neck.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” she repeated, hugging him tightly.

“You’re welcome,” he replied softly in her ear, holding her close, pleased with her response. “Want to take her for a spin?”

Chloe pulled back, eyes sparkling. “You know, there’s a place in Smallville called Makeout Point. Don’t suppose there’s anywhere like that around here?”

Dean grinned down at her. “Get in the car.”

\-----------------------------------

Dusk was settling as Chloe came downstairs to find the boys talking quietly in the kitchen. She stood in the doorway, unnoticed, listening to Sam fill Dean in on a possible hunt.

“Two months ago, it was two women in Portage, Wisconsin. Last month, it was three in Sparta. Last week, there was one in Truman, Minnesota, and two days ago, another one.”

“What makes you think it’s one of our jobs, not just some sicko?”

“There’s no evidence of breaking and entering in any of the cases. All of them appear to have been carried out by someone the women knew, in their homes. And here’s the kicker – there was an eyewitness in Truman who saw the husband enter the apartment the night the woman was murdered. However, the husband has an airtight alibi; he was at a business conference in New York with a dozen witnesses of his own.”

Dean leaned back in his chair, and looked grim. “You’re thinking shapeshifter.”

Sam nodded. “Yep.”

“Truman’s less than two hours away. We’ll pack up tonight; head out first thing in the morning. I’ll tell Chloe.”

He began to rise from the table, but Sam stopped him. “Dean, I don’t think we should take Chloe with us this time.”

Dean frowned, unaware he was mirroring Chloe’s own expression. “Why not?”

“The women weren’t just murdered, they were…” Sam trailed off throwing a look at Dean. Dean nodded, jaw clenched. He understood. “Also, they were all blonde.”

Dean’s expression was dark. “You’re right. She needs to sit this one out.”

“Actually, I wouldn’t be able to go with you anyway.” Chloe responded, smiling faintly when both boys jumped at her unexpected presence, turning to look at her with slightly guilty expressions. “I just got off the phone with Oliver. There’s some work I need to take care of for him, and I need to go to Metropolis to do it.”

“You’ve been able to do your other research from here, why do you need to go to Metropolis?” Dean frowned, and Chloe knew he had been wondering about the nature of her work for Oliver; her working arrangements were noticeably irregular, research needing to be done at different times of the day or night, always precipitated by a phone call or email from Oliver or Victor. Tonight, though, she’d be able to explain fully. Oliver had just given her the go ahead to fill Dean and Sam in on the Justice League. Not all of their secrets, but enough to be honest, enough so they’d understand how important her work with the JLA was.

She sat down at the table between the brothers and grinned at both of them. “So, have you ever heard of the Green Arrow?”

\----------------------------

The next morning Chloe packed her bags while Dean sat on the bed watching her. He and Sam were supposed to have left for Truman already, but she noticed that he seemed to be stalling. She didn’t say anything about it though; she wasn’t looking forward to the separation, either, short though it would be. She was also concerned about the possibility of them going up against a shapeshifter again, knowing how badly it had turned out for them before.

“Watchtower, huh? I kind of like it.”

She rolled her eyes. “You can just keep calling me Chloe.”

He grasped her hand, pulling her to stand in front of him, grinning up at her. “How about if I call you ‘my girl’?”

She smiled and bent down, pressing a kiss to his lips. “I can live with that,” she replied, then kissed him again, smiling as she felt his hand sliding up her arm. “If you keep that up, we’ll get distracted, and Sam will be up here bellowing for you.”

“Mmm, I can be quick,” he responded, pulling her down into his lap and sliding his hands around to the small of her back.

Chloe smiled and started to answer, but was cut off by Sam’s voice from downstairs. “Dean! Stop kissing her so we can go.”

Chloe laughed. “He knows you so well.”

Dean released her, grumbling. “You just better hold that thought. I expect to be very distracted when I get back.” He stood up, leering at her, and she laughed again, holding his hand and accompanying him downstairs to say goodbye.


	2. Chapter 2

Chloe arrived in Metropolis late that afternoon and carried her bags up to the top floor of the Watchtower.

 

It was just as she had left it weeks before; she and Oliver were generally the only ones who used it, though Clark also had the security codes, but Oliver had been in Star City for most of the past three weeks, dealing with Queen Industries business. Tonight, though, he was in Honduras with the rest of the team, preparing to infiltrate a building owned by Luthorcorp, a place they suspected was housing one of Lex’s projects.

The mission wasn’t scheduled until eleven o’clock, Chloe’s time, so she busied herself with grabbing a bite to eat, making coffee, and studying the schematics of the building that Victor had downloaded and sent, and the mission plan that she and Oliver had put together the evening before. At a quarter before eleven she had accessed the Queen Industries network they used for JLA missions, and with earpiece on and comms open, she waited for the team to check in.

“Watchtower, this is Arrow. Are you on?”

“I’m here, Arrow. Begin comms check.”

“Cyborg here.”

“Cyborg acknowledged.”

“Aquaman here.”

“Aquaman acknowledged.”

“Impulse here. How’s my chiquita?”

Chloe smiled. “Impulse acknowledged. Communications are a go. Arrow, you ready to do this?”

“We’re ready, Watchtower. Cyborg, you’re up.”

Chloe waited, imagining Victor and Oliver tapping into the security feeds, and relaying them back to her. She heard a beep, and then her screen was filled with a living blueprint of the building. Victor’s voice came over the line. “Security override established.”

“Target acquired.” Chloe got to work, fingers flying across the keyboard, able to peel back each layer of the blueprint and find the heat signatures representing human occupancy. “Two guards outside the lead-enforced room in the east wing over the river.”

Oliver’s voice came over the line. “Aquaman, check it out.”

“I’m on it.”

“Impulse, looks like fifteen people are being held in the cells underground.”

“I’ll get them out.”

“Arrow, no security presence on the third floor where the offices are. One guard by the stairwell on the second floor.”

“Cyborg and I are going in.”

Chloe watched the screen intently, tracking her team through the building, watching as fifteen heat signatures were led out of the basement, listening as A.C. confirmed the presence of a huge store of kryptonite, and downloading the information that Victor was accessing in the offices. She followed Bart’s progress as he set detonators across the building, then heard Oliver’s distorted voice come over everyone’s comms at once, as it boomed through the building, instructing the remaining guards to exit or risk being blown up with it. She confirmed that no one remained in the building, and verified the team was safely outside the perimeter, and then the security feed on her screen crashed to static.

They spoke about next steps, Oliver assuring her he’d find places for the fifteen men who’d been experimented on with doses of meteor rock. She and Victor both agreed to analyze the downloaded data over the coming weeks in an attempt to glean more information on Lex’s projects. Then Oliver was congratulating them all on a successful mission, and they began signing off.

“Watchtower, you headed back north tomorrow?”

“Yes, early. Don’t want to be away too long.”

“Be careful. Check in when you arrive.”

“I will. Watchtower out.”

\-------------------------------

The following afternoon, Dean stood outside an apartment building, flipping his cell phone shut as Sam walked outside, dressed in a suit.

“Who was that?” Sam asked, nodding towards the phone Dean was sticking in his pocket.

“Chloe. She just got back to Bobby’s.”

“That was quick. Everything go okay?”

“Yeah, I guess. She said it was a “successful mission.”

Sam noticed his slight frown. “What is it?”

Dean shook his head. “Nothing really. I just realized, it never occurred to me that she could be in just as much danger in her other job. I thought it was all research, boring analysis, that sort of thing. Turns out she’s helping a team of vigilantes steal secrets and bomb buildings.”

“It sounds like she does it from a distance though.”

Dean snorted. “Right.” He raised an eyebrow at Sam. “Have you noticed how she has a habit of showing up right in the middle of the action?”

Sam chuckled. “Yeah, I noticed.”

Dean looked back up at the apartment building. “Anyway, what’d you find out?”

“The neighbor across the hall is certain it was the husband. Said he talked to her and everything, wished her a good night as he closed the door. She also said that the wife’s car has been missing since the night she died, a black sportscar with a convertible top.”

“Huh. So if it is a shapeshifter, he stole the car after killing her?”

“Maybe he needed to make a quick getaway. Or maybe he’s going to use it when he heads to the next town.”

“The shapeshifter in St Louis had an underground lair. I don’t think a car is going to fit through a manhole.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “I already checked the water and sewer systems here. There isn’t the same type of access; it’s a much smaller city. I don’t think it went underground.”

“There’s what, five miles between the two victims’ places?”

“About that, yeah.”

“Let’s see what’s between them.”

\------------------------------

They drove slowly between the apartment building of the most recent victim, and the home of the other. The apartment was close to the outskirts of town, and they marked the buildings they passed on the map, including businesses, restaurants, and a parking garage, before the road passed into a more wooded area, leading to the subdivision where the first victim resided.

“It might be hiding out on one of these wooded lots, with the car covered up in the bushes,” Sam hypothesized.

“Could be. We can take a look, pretend to be surveyors if anyone asks. But first, I want to check out that parking garage,” Dean replied, turning the car around.

“The police probably already checked there, Dean.”

“Yeah, and small town cops do such a thorough job, don’t they?” Dean smirked at his brother, and Sam shrugged, acknowledging the point.

They drove into the garage, then up through the five floors, seeing no sign of the missing car. However, the middle of the first floor, beneath the ramp to the second, was enclosed and gated off. They drove back down and parked on the first floor near the entrance, then exited the car, hiding their guns loaded with silver bullets in their clothing. It was impossible to see through the enclosure from a distance, thick dark metal strips crisscrossing and leaving only small pinpoints through which to look. They stepped quietly up to the metal, and looked carefully, giving their eyes time to adjust to the darkness of the enclosure. At first, Dean thought he might be seeing things, but the shape of a small car became more discernable as his eyes adjusted and he looked back at Sam, who nodded; he had seen it too.

They walked quietly around to the front, where the two door gate stood, noticing that the chain that normally held the doors together was unlocked and hanging from one side. Dean moved into position against that gate while Sam stood against the other, both pulling their guns. At Dean’s nod, Sam reached out to open his gate, but before his hand touched the metal, the gate flew back, slamming him backwards against a concrete post. Dean caught a glimpse of the man with blonde hair shoving the gate into Sam and opened fire, but the man was faster, rushing towards Dean, slamming him to the ground, causing the gun to go flying. Dean was winded, but managed to flip on to his back, and opened his eyes to see the man bringing a lead pipe down towards his face. He scrambled to the side but wasn’t completely able to avoid it, feeling the pipe smash down the side of his head, taking hair and skin with it. He rolled over, retching and trying to hang on to consciousness, seeing blood dripping onto the concrete, but his head hurt too badly, and he could do nothing but lie against the ground, and black out.

\----------------------------------

“Dean!”

Dean groaned, his head pounding as he returned to consciousness. “Leave me alone, Sam, let me die in peace.”

“You’re not dying, Dean, you just got knocked out. It hit you in the head with a pipe.”

“It?”

“Shapeshifter. It’s definitely a shapeshifter, Dean. I found what was left of its last skin. It must have shed after it knocked you out. The sportscar is gone, too.”

“Shit.” Dean struggled to sit up, opening his eyes, waiting for them to focus on Sam’s anxious face. “It probably looks like me now. Again. God, I hate shapeshifters.”

Sam reached down and gave him a hand up. “Dean, it’s killed seven women while pretending to be their loved ones. If it looks like you and has your memories…”

“Fuck. Chloe.”


	3. Chapter 3

Chloe hummed to herself, alone in the kitchen.

 

Bobby had gone in to town for supplies, leaving her alone to take a nap. She’d arisen early that morning in Metropolis, eager to get back, and although she wasn’t one for needing a lot of sleep, two days of heavy driving and the excitement of a mission had worn her out. She’d laid down for an hour, drifting in and out of sleep, but she had never been good at sleeping during the day, and so had abandoned her nap. After taking a shower and feeling more refreshed, she realized she had time to work on something she had been contemplating for a while. She had never done it before, and wasn’t as familiar with the tools needed as she would have liked. She was much more comfortable working on her laptop, or heck, even with her gun. But, being nervous about something had never stopped her before, so she had squared her shoulders and marched into the kitchen, and was now giving it her best shot.

Baking cookies. From scratch.

Chloe wasn’t unfamiliar with a kitchen, of course. She had grown up helping her dad cook their meals. But baking was something altogether different. She had grown used to running down to the Talon from her apartment when she needed a cookie fix, or at most, after moving back to Metropolis, buying those cold tubes of already prepared cookie dough, and just popping them in the oven for eight to twelve minutes, or until golden brown. Domesticity had never been her strong suit; her talents ran in other directions. But she loved homemade cookies, knew Dean loved homemade cookies, and Sam too, and she was willing to bet on Bobby as well. Who didn’t?

The oven was preheated, and the cookie dough was ready to be spooned onto the pan. The kitchen was a bit of a mess, and there was flour all over her hands and arms, but the dough looked like it was supposed to, smelled like it was supposed to, and she was already feeling pretty pleased with herself, ready to begin the actual baking.

Chloe heard the front door open and, poking her head out of the kitchen, was surprised to see Dean closing the door behind him. “Dean! I didn’t hear you drive up. How was the hunt, did you catch whatever was killing those people?”

He didn’t respond, but walked towards her, smiling, and she began to exit the kitchen to kiss him, but remembered her hands. “Wait a minute, let me wash my hands, I’ve got flour all over them.” She hurried over to the sink and washed them quickly, then grabbed a towel and began drying them when she felt him behind her, and then his hands were on her shoulders and sliding down her arms.

She smiled. “Hey, now I can greet you properly.” She put the towel down and turned in his arms, tilting her head up to his still smiling face, closing her eyes as his lips came down on hers. She leaned into the kiss, feeling him press up against her, pushing her more firmly against the counter; she could feel the edge pressing sharply into her back. His kiss became more aggressive, and he leaned forward, forcing her to bend backwards at an uncomfortable angle, his hands grasping her arms tightly. Chloe frowned, surprised at his aggressiveness, and tilted her head away from his.

“Whoa, Dean, I need you to let up just a bit, okay?” She tried to maneuver to the side and away from the counter, but he held her upper arms firmly, not allowing it. Chloe looked into his face, but his smile seemed more malevolent now, and his eyes had a gleam that she had never seen before. “Dean, what’s going on? Are you alright?”

“I’m just fine, baby,” he answered, leaning forward to graze his lips down her jawline and throat, nipping at her skin with his teeth, lightly at first, but the third nip caught at her skin painfully.

“Ow! Dean, stop it, this isn’t you.” She pushed at his torso with her hands, but he was still holding her tightly, painfully, and she wasn’t able to get enough leverage to move him away.

His head moved up to her ear and bit painfully at her earlobe. “Oh, it’s me, alright. I’ve come home to take care of my girl.” His lips came back to hers, and she tried to move her head away, but he was quicker, catching her bottom lip between his teeth and biting down quickly. She cried out, tasting the trickle of blood in her mouth.

“Stop it, stop it!” she cried as she pushed at him ineffectually.

He lifted his head again, grinning down at her, and while she could see Dean’s face, it wasn’t Dean who was staring at her from behind those eyes. The pieces slid into place, and fear gripped her heart. “You’re a shapeshifter,” she breathed. “You hurt those women; killed them.”

“My girl is so smart,” he replied, burying his face in the crevice just beneath her throat.

“I’m not yours. You’re not him.”

“I am him, now, and his is the last face you’re ever going to see.” His mouth slid further down her skin, towards the dip in her blouse, galvanizing her to action. She brought her knee up, hard, between his legs, causing him to cry out and loosen his grip. She wrenched herself away and ran out of the kitchen, towards the front door, but something heavy hit her back and then she was face down on the floor, his weight bearing her down. She struggled and bucked, trying to throw him off, but he was too heavy. She felt his breath against her cheek, heard him chuckling in her ear, then felt his hands curve around her sides to the front of her jeans, yanking her blouse out from where it was tucked into the denim, tearing the bottom of it in the process. She renewed her struggles, throwing an elbow back, feeling it connect with his face and hearing his grunt of pain and surprise. He grasped one of her arms, hauling her over and onto her back, her other arm flailing to the side until her hand came into contact with one of Bobby’s books, and hoping it was big enough, swung it up against his head with as much strength as she could muster. It didn’t knock him out, but it was enough to stun him, and as he rolled to the side, bringing both hands up to his face, she scrambled away from him, slammed the front door open, and took off running into the salvage yard.

Chloe ducked behind a broken down minivan, then began methodically making her way down the yard, scrambling from car to car, hiding behind them, checking underneath for visible feet before rushing to the next one. Her goal was to get past the back of the house and to the barn, where she hoped Bobby would have more weapons stored. She thought longingly of the Beretta, lying uselessly along with her cell phone in the bedroom, and swore to herself that she would carry both at all times after this. Of course, without silver bullets the most she could hope to do was wound the shapeshifter, slow it down, but that would have been better than nothing. She slid around an old pickup, and was looking around carefully when her foot hit something hard. Glancing down, she saw an old crowbar lying in the dirt, and bent down to pick it up, happy to have any kind of weapon in hand.

A sudden clattering off to her right, the sound of metal thrown against metal, prompted Chloe to whip her head around and stare in that direction. Not seeing anything, but spooked, she turned back to her left and started running as fast as she could towards the open barn, weaving around the remaining cars, almost to the open field between the last car and the barn, when something stepped out in front of her, grabbing her arms and using her forward momentum to swing her around in a circle. Dizzy, she grasped the crowbar tightly, and when her vision cleared enough for her to make out that hateful grin, along with the red mark on his cheek her elbow had made, she brought the crowbar up pointed side first, shoving it into his stomach with all her might.

He groaned and fell back, dropping to the ground, but she never let go of the crowbar, and it pulled back out of his flesh as he fell away from her. She turned it hook side up and swung it towards his head, intending to knock him out, but his hand flashed out and wrenched it away from her, then his legs kicked out against hers, sending her sprawling to the ground. He rose up over her, raising the crowbar into the air, when suddenly gunshots exploded through the air, and she screamed, watching as his body jerked in time to the bullets entering his flesh. He fell to the ground at her feet, dead, and the gunfire stopped. She looked up to see Dean and Sam standing at a distance, both pointing guns at the shapeshifter. They lowered the guns and ran towards her, Dean’s arm outstretched to help her, but she scrambled back in the dirt, her brain still in fear mode. He frowned in surprise, then looked more carefully at her, eyes moving from her scared face complete with bruised and bloodied lips to the bruises forming on her throat and arms, and finally taking in her torn blouse. His jaw clenched as an awful thought occurred to him, and he knelt down before her, careful not to enter her personal space.

“Chloe, did he…did it…hurt you?” He couldn’t bring himself to say the ugly word, and in his peripheral vision saw Sam rock back on his heels, understanding the implication, but he kept his eyes on Chloe.

She took another shuddering breath, and he watched as her eyes darted from him to Sam, then beyond to the Impala, still running and with both doors open, then back to him, her eyes boring into his as if searching for something. He didn’t move, just waited, knowing what she was looking for, and was relieved when her face softened and she shook her head, tears beginning to pour down her cheeks, and she whispered. “No.”

He gathered her up then, and she let him, wrapping her arms around his neck and burying her head against his shoulder as he lifted her up out of the dirt. He held her close, feeling her trembling, and exchanged glances with Sam, then walked toward the house, knowing Sam would dispose of the body.


	4. Chapter 4

Bobby returned home in time to help Sam wrap the shapeshifter’s body in a sheet and set it on a pyre to burn. All evidence of another Dean became a gray smoke rising into the air and dispersed by the wind. Once the fire had burned away, they turned their attention to the small black car that had been parked on the side of the road, outside the entrance to the salvage yard. They brought it into the back of the yard and began tearing it apart so Bobby could dispose of any identifying pieces and sell the rest as scrap.

Dean had carried Chloe straight up the stairs and to the bathroom. Her skin and hair were dusty from the dirt she had fallen in, and Dean thought it would be best to help her wash it off, try to remove all reminders of her ordeal as soon as possible. Her tears had stopped while he carried her, but the trembling had remained, even after he set her down on the closed toilet seat. He turned the shower on, giving the water time to warm up, then turned back to her, bending down to remove her clothing. He was concentrating hard on being gentle, not spooking her, and he jumped a little, startled, when she suddenly spoke into the silence.

“So stupid. Should have realized sooner.”

“You’re not stupid. He looked just like me, and you weren’t expecting trouble.”

She reached up and touched his amulet, lightly. “He didn’t have this. I should have seen it right away.”

“You fought him, Chloe. You wounded him with the crowbar.”

“He came in the house. I was washing my hands and he came up behind me and I thought it was you and I just…and then he wouldn’t let go and all I could think to do was try to get away.”

“And you did, you got outside,” Dean replied, encouraging her to continue, hoping that if she could talk it out now, it would help her to recover more quickly.

“But he caught me there, and I didn’t have my gun or my phone because I left them upstairs like an idiot.” She looked up at him as if she felt she deserved a lecture, but he just smiled at her reassuringly, and finished removing her clothing, then started on his. At least he knew now why she hadn’t answered her phone when he and Sam had been racing to get to her. He also made a mental note to delete all the messages he had left on her cell after she had fallen asleep. No need for her to hear those now.

Dean took her hand and helped her step into the shower. He pulled her up against him, resting her head on his chest, and heard her sigh as she felt the spray of hot water against her back. Picking up the sponge he knew she used to wash with, he poured some of her peach soap, the source of one of the smells he’d come to associate with Chloe, on to the soft material and began gently washing her skin, beginning with her neck, back and arms, then rinsing and turning her to lean her back against him. He continued to bathe the remainder of her skin, then turned her again to face him and held her head tipped back under the water, soaking her hair. Leaning her forward again, he used both hands to work her shampoo into a lather, washing out the dirt, letting his fingers massage against her scalp. He could feel a small humming vibration where her lips rested against his chest, could feel her warm breath curling against his skin, and knew that she had finally relaxed fully, the scared trembling gone. He rinsed her hair, running his hands through the strands, making sure all of the soap fell away. Her eyes were closed, and he let her continue to rest against him as he reached for his own shampoo bottle, intending to quickly wash his own hair.

Dean cursed softly when the shampoo ran into the cut on his head. Somehow, he had forgotten about the shapeshifter hitting him with the pipe, or at least forgotten about the cut that remained. His hiss of pain captured Chloe’s attention, and she looked up slowly, her eyes traveling to the side of his head where blood still streaked his skin. Before he realized what she was doing, she had reached a hand up and held it over the wound, fingertips just barely grazing his skin, and his eyes went wide at the sensation of the cut knitting itself back together, then disappearing completely, along with the headache he had been doing his best to ignore. Chloe suddenly uttered a small sound, bringing both hands to her head and he tightened his arms around her, realizing she had taken on his pain.

“You shouldn’t have done that; you’ve been through enough today,” he chided softly.

“You were hurt,” she replied simply, as if that were the only thing that mattered. He sighed and pressed a kiss to her forehead, holding her for a moment longer before rinsing himself and shutting off the water.

He wrapped towels around them both, and after checking to make sure no one else was upstairs, carried her to their room, closing the door behind them. He helped Chloe dress in her favorite pajamas, a soft pink tank with matching pants, then tucked her into the bed, pulling the blankets around her and kissing her cheek before turning to get dressed.

“Dean.”

“Yeah?”

“The kitchen’s kind of a mess; and, oh God, the oven is probably still on.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll take care of it. You rest. I’ll be back up to check on you soon.” She nodded and he smiled; watched as her eyes closed and waited for her breathing to even out before leaving the room.

\--------------------------

Dean’s hand was clamping down on the gun under his pillow before he was aware enough to recognize why; Chloe was sitting up in bed next to him, screaming. He turned over and sat up as fast as possible, grabbing her arms to shake her awake, but that was apparently the wrong thing to do, as she began to struggle and push away from him, her incoherent screaming changing to shouting the word ‘No’ over and over. He let her go immediately, shouting her name, trying to wake her, then reached for her again as her scrambling caused her to fall backwards off the bed, her back hitting against the wall a few feet away, waking her up with a sharp gasp, eyes wide. Dean immediately began crawling across the bed to get to her, but jumped back, reaching for the gun again when the bedroom door slammed open and Sam rushed in, carrying his own gun.

The three stayed frozen for a moment, staring at each other, as if waiting for the other shoe to drop, but nothing else happened, and finally Chloe broke the silence.

“I’m sorry. It was just…a nightmare.”

Dean resumed his movement to her side, helping her stand and then lie back down in bed. “It’s alright, Chloe. Probably should have expected it.” She sighed and nodded, burrowing back down in the covers.

Dean then walked to the doorway where Sam had backed respectfully into the hallway. “Sorry for busting in, man, but when I heard her…”

Dean shook his head. “No it’s okay, I’m glad you did. The way she was screaming…” He clenched his jaw, remembering how terrified she sounded. “Fucking shapeshifters. I hope we never come across another one.”

“Everything all right up there?”

The brothers turned to look down the stairway, where Bobby was looking up at them and answered in unison. “Yes sir.”

“Alright. I’m going back to bed.” He disappeared from their sight and the brothers looked at each other, Sam clapping his hand on Dean’s shoulder.

“Get some sleep, Dean.”

“Yeah, you too.” He reentered the room, closed the door and tried to lie down carefully so as not to wake Chloe if she had already fallen asleep. However, he felt her hand move across the sheets to grasp his and knew she was awake and needed him. He pulled her to him , spooning around her, one arm under her neck and the other over her midriff, just below her own arm. “Is this okay?”

“Yes. Sorry for waking you, and for…pushing you away.”

He shook his head against her hair. “Not your fault. It was my face that thing was wearing; I shouldn’t have let it get the drop on me, should’ve killed it before it could come after you.” His arms tightened around her. “I’m just glad you’re okay with me being here with you.”

“It wasn’t you; once I figured it out, all I could see were his eyes, and they weren’t yours.”

He smiled into her hair, then just lay quietly listening to her breathing even out again as she fell back to sleep. He sighed, let himself relax around her, and drifted off to the comforting peach scent of her soap.


	5. Chapter 5

Dean tapped his fingers against the steering wheel, more out of habit than to be in time with the AC/DC blasting through the speakers. They were making their way to the small town of Hartford, where one of the interior communities seemed to be experiencing some odd occurrences. Sam had found the information on a local news website, and had relayed it to Dean and Chloe the day before.

“According to the article, the community is at odds with the local electric company. Seems they’re experiencing flickering house lights, street lights, and static noises from appliances every night. The homeowner’s association is accusing them of cutting power to the community, but the electric company denies it.”

They had considered the possibility of demons or spirits; either way, it definitely sounded like their kind of job.

Dean was happy to be on the road again. Bobby’s salvage yard made a great home base on occasion, a place to get patched up or recuperate, or make repairs to the car, but nothing beat driving on the open road, heading towards a new job, with Sam in the passenger seat.

And Chloe in the backseat. Twice they had stopped for gas and restroom breaks, and both times, Sam had offered Chloe the front, but she had refused, saying that she preferred to stretch out in the back. Dean glanced in the rearview mirror and was able to see just the top of her head as she bent over her laptop, typing, blonde hair reflecting the sunshine. Chloe had become an important part of the equation for Dean’s happiness, though he preferred not to dwell on that thought too much. He didn’t need to be all introspective and emo like Sam; it was enough for him that she was there, safe, and happy. Well, mostly happy.

Chloe had assured him that she was “just fine” the day after she had been assaulted by the shapeshifter, citing the many times in Smallville she had apparently been chased or attacked by some bastard hopped up on meteor rock. Dean had to admit she seemed fine, at least during the day. She smiled just as easily, and she wasn’t afraid to be alone. There were a couple differences though; she now carried the Beretta with her constantly, even just around the house, unwilling to be without access to a weapon. Dean couldn’t complain about that, as he did the same thing, but he was sorry for the situation that had brought it on. She also had Bobby working on her Jeep, adding a hidden compartment in the back that would allow her to carry a small cache of weaponry.

Nighttime, however, was something different. She had difficulty sleeping if Dean wasn’t there, and her nightmare had reoccurred four more times over the last week. He had finally figured out how to wake her without scaring her more, just rubbing her back when she sat up screaming until she woke up, usually less than a minute later. Then she would lay back in his arms and apologize softly before falling asleep for the remainder of the night. He took it as a good sign that it hadn’t occurred every night; hopefully her memories would fade over time, and the nightmare would become less and less frequent.

The town of Hartford was small, so small that they reached the few motels in the area before reaching the “Welcome to Hartford” sign. The first motel showed a No Vacancy sign, but the second didn’t have any vacancy sign at all, so Dean pulled into the parking lot of the Historic Hillside Motel, and got out to check.

He came back to the car, opening the door and tossing a key at Sam. “I booked us a room; they only had one left. Apparently everywhere around is filled up; some folk music festival going on this weekend.” He rolled his eyes. “Why they would rather sit around a campfire and sing Kumbaya when they could be celebrating the beauty that is heavy metal I’ll never know. Actually Sam, that sounds like it’d be right up your alley.”

“You know, Dean, some heavy metal bands were influenced by folk music, or combine folk elements with rock to create their own unique sound.”

Dean stared at his brother in incredulous disgust. “Not my bands, and how could you possibly know that?”

Sam smiled at him. “I took a semester of music appreciation in college.”

Dean shook his head. “Of course you did.”

The three settled into the motel room, Chloe setting up both hers and Sam’s laptops on the table. Dean tossed his duffel onto the bed closest to the door. “Man, no Magic Fingers? This place sucks.” He lay on the bed, lacing his hands behind his head, and looked over at Sam, who was sitting on the edge of the other bed, rummaging through his bag.

“Hey Sammy, I think it’s your turn to pick up dinner.”

“We just got here, Dean. How do you figure it’s my turn?”

“I’m pretty sure I picked it up last time we were on a hunt.”

“Whatever. I saw a pizza place a couple blocks away. Chloe, you want to share a salad with me?”

Chloe glanced up and smiled. “Sure, sounds good.”

Sam smiled back and nodded, then glanced back at Dean and frowned. “I’ll be right back.”

“Lots of pepperoni,” Dean called out to him, but the door swung closed before he’d finished the sentence. He smirked at the door, happy to have fulfilled his annoy-Sam quota for the day, and looked over at Chloe, his smirk changing to something a little more wicked. “The bed’s pretty comfortable,” he said, his tone leaving the sentence open, encouraging a response.

Chloe’s eyes didn’t lift from the screen. “Mm-hmm.”

Dean was undeterred. “You look kind of tired, Chloe, maybe you should lay down and rest.”

“I’m okay.”

Dean huffed a little at his failure, which turned into a sniffle and a fake cough. “Actually, I’m not feeling too good either, maybe you should come over here and check on me.”

Chloe looked up at him, amused. “I know what you’re doing, and I’m not coming over there.”

Dean looked affronted. “Why not?”

“I’m not doing…that…with you in the same room where Sam has to sleep. It’s not fair.”

Dean sat up. “Not fair?”

“I’m not going to come between the two of you.”

Dean shook his head, trying to keep up. “What are you talking about?”

Chloe sighed. “You two have been traveling together for years. You’re used to each other, used to sharing the car, motel rooms, meals, all of it. Throw a third person into the mix, and the balance you both have worked out will shift. We’ve been lucky so far, but a lot of our time has been spent at Bobby’s, and that was sort of new for you, too. Now we’re on the road, which is basically yours and Sam’s natural habitat, and I don’t want to be responsible for upsetting the balance between you.”

“Chloe, Sam’s okay with this, with you being here. He told me so.”

“I know he is, but I don’t want to wear out my welcome.”

“That’s not going to happen.”

“Because we’re going to take steps for it not to happen.” She looked at him pointedly, and he rolled his eyes.

“Fine, fine. How long do I have to live like a monk, or you know, like Sam?” he grumbled.

“Let’s just see how long this job takes, okay? If we need to, we can…go on a picnic in the woods or something, just the two of us.”

Dean looked mildly disgusted. “A picnic?”

Chloe rolled her eyes. “You know, with a blanket? Alone? Only the trees to hear us?”

“Oh.” Dean perked up. “Yeah, we could do that.” He lay back against the pillows again, thinking. “You know, if we found Sam a girl, then we’d be even.”

“I’m sure Sam can find his own girls without our help,” Chloe replied, attention back on her screen.

“Yeah, right.” Dean muttered.

\--------------------------------------------

They stayed at the motel until dusk, then drove out to the Hidden Hills community on the south edge of town. It wasn’t upscale enough to be gated, but it was clearly a well-to-do area. Many of the houses were two stories, and all of them had landscaped lawns and gardens, many with rock or water features. Children played in the yards, or rode bicycles on the street, many of them eyeing the Impala with awe.

“Probably never seen anything but a Prius or a minivan,” Dean snorted.

They parked on a side street near where a woman was standing at the end of her driveway, watching two girls ride tricycles up and down the asphalt. Chloe took out a pencil and notebook, and the credentials she still had from her previous stint at the Daily Planet, and walked towards her.

“Hello, my name is Chloe Sullivan, and I’m with the Daily Planet. I’m trying to find out about the problems your community is having with the electric company?’

The woman looked a little flustered, but responded. “Oh, you should really talk to Norma, she’s the head of the homeowner’s association; she would be able to help you better than me.”

Chloe nodded. “I’ll definitely do that, Mrs. ?”

“Baker, Kara Baker.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Baker. So have you experienced the same problems as the rest of the community?”

“Oh yes, just wait, in a few minutes the street lights will come on and start flickering off and on all night long. And any appliances you run at night, the refrigerator, the dishwasher, all of them start buzzing at night, too.”

“I see. How long has this been going on?”

“Oh, a couple weeks now. The electric company says its not them, but what else could it be?”

Chloe smiled. “Have you noticed anything else around the community that’s been different, or strange, over the past couple weeks?”

The woman looked at her a little oddly, but answered. “No, nothing. I mean, the temperature drops are odd, but that’s just the weather.”

“Temperature drops? What do you mean by that?”

“Oh, just that it gets cooler here at night than the weathermen predict. Sometimes I’ll take the dog out for his nightly walk and it’s like I’m walking in the middle of winter. But it doesn’t last, usually by the time we get back to the house, it feels normal again. I figure the weathermen just don’t know what they’re talking about, you know?”

Chloe agreed, and finished the interview, getting Norma’s last name, Black, and her address, then returned to the Impala, sliding into the back seat. She filled the brothers in on what Kara Baker had told her, watching as the woman took her two children into the house. They waited in the car until the dusk began to settle into darkness, and the street lights began popping on, one by one. It took only a few minutes before the flickering began, just as described, and the three hopped out of the car, Dean and Sam both carrying their EMF detectors.

“This thing’s off the scale, Dean,” Sam said, turning slowly to point the detector in all directions.

“Yeah, mine too. Between the flickering and the cold spots, it’s got to be a spirit of some kind. I think we’d better hit the research tomorrow, interview some more residents, find out if there’s been any deaths here. If it is a spirit, we’re going to have to know where the body is buried.”

They got back into the car and continued driving around the community. All of the street lights were flickering on and off, as were some of the porch and driveway lights. Some of the lights were just off, as if the residents had given up dealing with it.

“This is a big area for a spirit to affect,” Sam pointed out. “There’s probably about eighty houses in this community. Spirits usually focus on one small place or person to bother.”

“You think the spirit is mad at the whole Hidden Hills community for something?” Chloe asked.

“Maybe.”

“Tomorrow, we’ll split up. Hit the library, check the obituaries, and interview more residents. See if we can figure this thing out,” Dean said.

“Sounds like a plan,” Chloe replied, and Dean smiled at her through the rearview mirror. It felt good to be hunting again.


	6. Chapter 6

Their first stop the next day was the home of Norma Black, president of the Hidden Hills homeowners association. Chloe used her press credentials to convince Ms. Black she was there to interview her, while Dean and Sam walked a few houses down to interview other residents with their own fake press badges.

Chloe listened carefully as Ms. Black detailed her grievances with the electric company, Kentucky Power & Light. She was well-spoken but abrasive, and Chloe imagined that the representatives of KPL were probably well past the point of wanting to deal with her.

“…they’ve sent a truck here five times, and every time they say there’s nothing wrong. Clearly, they’re either lying or incompetent…”

Chloe waited until she had finished her spiel and began to wind down. “Ms. Black, have there been any other strange occurrences in the area? We’ve seen reports of colder than usual temperatures during the night.”

Ms. Black frowned at her. “Yes, but that’s just the weather. That has nothing to do with the problems we’re having or with KPL’s refusal to fix the situation.”

Chloe smiled sympathetically. “I understand Ms. Brown, I’m just trying to get a well-rounded view of your community during the past two weeks you’ve been having the electrical problems. Can you tell me if there were any events in the community two weeks ago that were unusual?”

“Unusual? No, I don’t think so.”

“Any recent deaths in the community?”

“Deaths? I fail to see how…”

“Please, Ms. Black, humor me.”

“No, no one who lives in Hidden Hills has died in over a year. There was a couple who died recently, but they had just moved away from the community.”

“A couple? Both of them died?”

“Yes, in a car accident.”

“Can you tell me their names?”

Ms. Black stared down her nose at Chloe for a moment. “I don’t see how that information is important to the subject at hand. I would prefer not to give out former community member names.”

Chloe smiled, knowing a lost cause when she saw one, and stood. “Thank you for your time, Ms. Black. I’ll let myself out.”

\------------------------------------------

Chloe walked down the street towards where the Impala sat waiting, when her attention was caught by a woman jogging down a nearby driveway, gesturing at her. She appeared to be in her fifties, with black hair running to gray tied in a neat braid.

“Excuse me, miss. Are you a reporter?”

Chloe nodded at the woman who came to a stop beside her, breathing loudly. “Yes I am.”

“Oh, I’m so glad I caught you. Kara said she’d spoken to a reporter yesterday. Kara Baker? You are the one who talked to her, right?”

“Yes, ma’am, I spoke with her yesterday.”

The woman fluttered her hands excitedly. “Oh good, I’m so happy to meet you. I’m Erica Sims, and I pretty much know everybody around here. I thought maybe if you needed to interview anyone else, I could help you.”

Chloe put on her best business smile, recognizing a town gossip when she saw one. “Actually Ms. Sims, I think I have all I need on the story about the electric company, but maybe you could help me with something else. We’re working on a story about the severity and frequency of traffic accidents in the area, and Ms. Black mentioned that two former Hidden Hills residents were recently in an accident. Were you familiar with them?” She watched as the woman’s face lit up in happiness, and knew she had struck a gold mine.

“Oh yes, the Conrads, Tim and Elsa. It was so sad, they were actually moving away the day the accident happened. They were on the way to their new condo when a truck ran a red light and they were both killed.” She shook her head in a slightly exaggerated sorrowfulness.

“Do you know why they were moving?”

“Oh, well, they’d lived here for ages, and they were both in their eighties. Poor health, you know? Anyway, when the homeowner’s association board was formed a year ago, there were a bunch of new rules voted in about how everyone’s houses and lawns had to look. The Conrads just couldn’t keep up, and they fought with the homeowners association board for months before they finally left.” She leaned toward Chloe, eyes wide, as if imparting a secret. “I heard that they racked up $5,000 in fines, and Norma told them she’d make the fines go away if they’d just move.”

Chloe frowned. “What were the fines for?”

“Mostly lawn care, I think. The rules are very strict about how often you should mow and water your lawn. Both of the Conrads were on Social Security, and they couldn’t afford a lawn service. Tim would occasionally be able to cut the grass, but his health just didn’t allow for him to handle yard work on a regular basis. They were nice people, but they simply weren’t able to meet the minimum requirements for maintaining a home in this community. The condo they were moving to would have been a much better fit.”

Chloe had to work at hiding her response to what she was hearing. “Did no one try to help them, maybe mow their lawn for them once in a while?”

Ms. Sims shook her head. “Well you know, everyone is just so busy with their work and families and taking care of their own places. There’s just no time for doing extra. Living in Hidden Hills is a privilege and we all have to take our fair share of the responsibility.”

“I see,” Chloe responded, trying not to roll her eyes at the shallowness on display. “Did you attend the funeral?”

“Oh no, but I heard it was lovely. They were buried at the Memorial Gardens Cemetery over on Whittier Drive.”

“Do you remember when the funeral took place?”

“Oh yes, just about two and a half weeks ago, I think.”

Chloe smiled. “Thank you for your help, Ms. Sims.”

“Oh, you’re welcome. Do you need me to sign a release or something, so you can quote me?”

“No, no, I’ll contact you if you need to sign anything.”

“Oh okay, well, you let me know!”

“I will.” Chloe began walking away quickly before Ms. Sims could say anything else. She picked up the pace even more, seeing Dean and Sam leaning against the car, both looking in her direction.

“Hey guys, find anything?” she asked.

Dean smirked at her. “I think we’ve got this thing solved.”

“Really?” Chloe widened her eyes, feigning surprise.

“Yep. A couple of old people died just over two weeks ago; used to live here.”

“The Conrads,” Sam supplied.

“Hmm, Tim and Elsa Conrad?” Chloe asked, smiling slightly.

Sam smiled back. “Guess you got the same information.”

\----------------------------------------

That night, they pulled up in front of the cemetery, surprised to see a large number of cars parked along the gravel roads inside the gate.

“What the hell?” Dean wondered. He watched as a large number of somberly dressed people strolled towards a funeral tent set just within eyesight deeper in the cemetery. “Why are they here at night?”

“I’ll find out,” Sam volunteered, and stepped out of the car.

Chloe watched as Sam closed the door and walked away, then leaned forward, pulling her knees up onto the leather so she could stretch and drape herself over the front seat, wrapping her arms around Dean’s shoulders. She buried her face against his neck and felt his hands wrap around her arms, tracing patterns against her skin.

“Have I told you today that you are incredibly hot?” she asked, and felt his head turn so that his lips brushed against her ear.

“No, you haven’t, and I think you should make it up to me,” he replied. She lifted her head enough to meet his lips, and they kissed slowly, savoring the quiet moment.

They both turned their head at the sound of a door opening and looked up at Sam, who rolled his eyes good-naturedly before sitting and closing the door.

“The funeral is for a former town councilman, who’s been a fixture in the city for years. Apparently, he was known for his eccentricities, and specified in his will that he wanted to be buried at midnight.”

“That’s ridiculous. Normal people are supposed to be buried during the day so abnormal people like us can dig them up at night. They’re messing with the natural order of things,” Dean grumbled.

“Guess we’ll have to come back tomorrow night,” Sam said.

“Great, just great. We could have been out of here tomorrow, now we’ve gotta hang around all day and do what?”

“We could attend the Hartford City Folk Music Festival,” Sam offered, grinning.

“Oh, hell no,” Dean began, but Chloe interrupted him.

“You check out the festival, Sam. Dean and I are going on a picnic.” She turned her head to look straight into Dean’s eyes, grinning when she saw his lips twist into a smirk.

Sam shook his head, hiding a smile. “Just keep the details to yourselves.”


	7. Chapter 7

“Have fun with the Kumbaya crowd, Sammy,” Dean shouted as Chloe pushed him out the door, laughing, a stolen motel blanket under her arm.

Sam finished tying his shoes then left the motel room, locking the door behind him and pocketing the key. Dean and Chloe had taken the Impala leaving Sam to walk, but he didn’t mind. The town really was small, and it was only a few blocks to the city park where the festival was being held. He ambled down the sidewalk, pausing here and there to stare into shop windows, but there was nothing unusual to see, nothing he hadn’t seen in similar small towns across the country.

It was late morning, and there were others on the sidewalks, some making their way to the festival just as Sam was, but most of the population seemed to have already passed through the area, and it was nice to stroll in the sunlight and be able to think without interruption. He laughed to himself, remembering Dean’s leering cheerfulness at going on a picnic with Chloe. Clearly “picnic” was code for “screw our brains out” and Sam appreciated that they were taking it elsewhere. He had expected to put up with them being intimate in the motel room; after all, it was Dean, and Sam had planned to let it go with a token complaint, as long as it didn’t go too far. But that hadn’t happened, and he knew Chloe had to be the reason why. She was clearly doing her best to fit in without pushing Sam out, refusing to take the front seat in the Impala, for example, and he appreciated her efforts. She was good for Dean, and he had…calmed…somewhat since they had become attached, although Sam grinned a bit at using the word calm to describe Dean. He was still the protective big brother, overprotective in Sam’s opinion, but that protectiveness now seemed shared between Sam and Chloe, which gave Sam a bit of relief. He still flirted; Sam was pretty sure flirting came as natural to Dean as breathing, but not with the same goal as before. Sam had wondered how Chloe would react, but she was more amused than anything at other women’s reactions to Dean, and never seemed anything other than confident in Dean’s attachment to her. Sam had begun to hope that their bond would continue to grow, and maybe help Dean to realize there were other options available to him besides throwing himself into hunting and waiting for the job that would eventually go bad.

Sam entered the park, wandering through the trees, stopping here and there to listen to a few guitarists and small bands playing their music. One of the bands included a woman enthusiastically playing a tambourine. Sam noticed the band was selling their music albums to onlookers and snorted. He wished, not for the first time, that the Impala had a CD player; having one of these turned on and cranked up when Dean started the car would’ve made a great prank.

He browsed through the food vendors; deep fried everything appeared to be on the menu. Even deep fried Oreos; Sam grimaced at the thought, but he knew Dean would have been in heaven, ordering one of everything. He finally chose what he thought was the lesser of all evils, a corn dog, finishing it as he walked through the trees toward the arts and crafts area. All of the local artisans appeared to be out selling their wares; hand carved wood figurines and chimes, twisted metal lawn decorations, and beadwork stands abounded. There was even a henna tattoo stand, and he paused to watch as an older Asian woman used a small brush to paint a symbol on the back of a younger woman’s neck. It was the symbol that caught his eye, and he watched as the woman worked, and a pentagram decorated with vines was completed. The younger woman turned around, smiling and thanking the artist, her eyes lifting to notice Sam standing close by. He ducked his head a little and dropped his eyes, embarrassed to be caught staring. He then startled a little when, after she finished paying, she stepped in his direction, smiling.

“You gonna get one?” she asked.

“Uh, no, I was just watching. Sorry, I didn’t mean to stare.”

“It’s alright. I just thought I’d try out the henna before getting the real thing. See if I like it.” She was still smiling up at him, clearly interested, and Sam was torn between interest (she was attractive) and apprehension (the last time he’d been interested, it hadn’t gone well). So he fell back on what he knew best; treat it like a job, and act his way through it.

He smiled back at her, in a friendly way. “That’s a pentagram, right? With vines around it? Isn’t that a symbol for protection?”

She nodded. “Yeah, my mom’s a Wiccan, and I dabble in it a little. I was thinking a tattoo might be nice to have, so why not get something that’s both pretty and useful?” She arched her neck, giving him a good view of the symbol underneath her short, dark hair, cutting her eyes up to see if he was looking.

He was, thoughtfully. He remembered drawing a similar symbol on the trunk of the Impala, over Dean’s protests, in order to protect the contents. It hadn’t occurred to him that they could possibly do the same for their bodies. They each had a charm Bobby had given them to ward off possession, even Chloe, but charms could be lost. A tattoo was permanent, and would make possession a nonissue for the rest of their lives. He decided he’d call Bobby and check with him, then talk to Dean.

He looked from the symbol back to the girl’s face; she was still smiling, but a little less certainly, clearly having twigged that she had lost his attention for a moment. He smiled at her again. “I think you made a good choice.”

“Yeah?” she asked, brightening. “So, do you live around here or just visiting for the festival?”

“Just visiting. Listen, I have to go, I have to…meet someone. Good luck with your tattoo.” He backed away quickly, before she could protest. Waving his hand at her, he turned and began walking back through the festival, in the direction of the motel. After a moment he turned to glance back, and saw that she was walking in the opposite direction. He sighed to himself, a little. She really had been kind of cute.

\---------------------------------------------------

It was late afternoon when Chloe and Dean returned to the motel room. Sam was sitting at the table reading through the newspaper, looking for another job, when they entered. He grinned when Chloe met his eyes smiling, but with a slight blush on her cheeks. Dean looked pleased with himself and the world.

“So Sammy, how was the festival?”

“It was fine. Listen, Dean, I’ve been thinking…”

“Oh, God.”

Sam huffed a little but continued. “I think we should get tattoos.”

Dean paused as he crossed through the room and looked at Sam. “Dude, I am not getting matching butterflies with you.”

Sam rolled his eyes and held up his wrist with the charm dangling from his bracelet. “I think we should get the protection symbol tattooed on our skin. Then we’d never have to worry about being possessed again. I talked to Bobby, he thinks it’s a good idea.”

Dean sat down on the bed, contemplating Sam’s words. “I don’t know, Dad always said no identifying marks if we could help it.”

“Dean, the FBI already knows what we look like. A tattoo isn’t going to make a difference. Besides, we can get it somewhere that will be covered by our clothes.”

Chloe grinned at Dean. “I can suggest a place.”

Dean smirked back. “You were all over me today, I’ll bet you know exactly where it would look best. I mean, the view you had from my…”

“Dean, I said no details, remember?” Sam said, wincing.

Chloe laughed and sat down on the bed next to Dean, leaning in for a quick kiss. “So when are you going to get them?”

Sam looked over at her. “Not just us, Chloe. You should get one, too.”

Chloe started shaking her head. “Oh, no. I don’t do needles.”

Dean smiled at her, snaking an arm around her waist. “Chloe…”

Chloe jumped off the bed and away from him. “Nope, not gonna happen. I’m happy with the charm.”

“Yeah, but the charm could fall off, get lost, or get pulled off in a fight. This way, we’d never have to worry,” Sam reasoned.

“C’mon Chloe, it won’t be so bad.” Dean said.

Chloe snorted. “Right. It wasn’t so bad when you stitched my head back together either, except for, you know, the pain.”

“Well, that was to keep you, you know, alive. So’s this,” Dean answered. He suddenly grinned. “I can get you drunk first, if it helps.” He just laughed when she shot him a death glare.

“We’ll go somewhere reputable, I’ll look around. It may take a while to find the place, so there’s plenty of time to think about it. Just think about it, okay Chloe?” Sam asked.

She looked at him unhappily. “I’ll think about it,” she answered grudgingly, then picked up one of her bags. “I’m taking a shower.” The brothers watched as she walked into the bathroom and closed the door.

Dean looked back at Sam. “Man, I’m glad we didn’t talk about this until after our picnic,” he grinned, and Sam snorted.


	8. Chapter 8

When the Impala pulled into the cemetery that night, Dean was relieved to see they were utterly alone; no midnight services to disrupt their plans. He parked outside the gate, the car partially hidden by the massive weeping willows that branched out and over the fence. He and Sam gathered the shovels, salt, and matches from the trunk while Chloe retrieved the flashlight, and they set off to find the graves.

It didn’t take too long; the graves were side by side, about a third of the way across the cemetery from the gate. Dean began on one grave as Sam started digging over another. Dean looked up at Chloe, who stood to the side, watching them both.

“Tomorrow, I’m picking up a third shovel,” he said, and she smirked back at him.

“Someone has to watch your backs, and I’m more than happy to fill that position,” Chloe replied. Then she jumped back quickly, biting off an exclamation when a shovelful of dirt rained against her legs.

“Cute, Dean, real cute,” she said as she bent down to dust her jeans off.

“Sorry, must’ve put too much shoulder into it,” Dean grinned unrepentantly, and even Sam snickered.

When they each had finished digging, they opened up the matching wood coffins and jumped out, allowing Chloe to pour salt over the corpses. Sam did the same with the gasoline, and Dean pulled the matches out of his pocket, then paused.

“You know, I can’t really blame Grandma and Grandpa for wanting a little revenge after being booted from their own home.”

“I know. They haven’t hurt anybody, just annoyed their former neighbors. Which is kind of justifiable,” Chloe replied.

“Eventually, they will hurt someone. If their spirits are this pissed off now, imagine when they’ve been floating around for a few years; they might decide to raise the bar from ‘annoying’ to ‘deadly’,” Sam said.

Dean nodded. “Yeah, you’re right.” He lit the matches and tossed them, first into the husband’s grave, then the wife’s. The three of them watched the two fires burn themselves out, then recovered the graves and left the cemetery.

They stopped in the Hidden Hills community before returning to the motel, driving slowly up and down the streets, watching for any signs of the Conrads’ continued presence. Sam checked the EMF meter, but it remained silent, and the street lights showed no signs of flickering. They drove back to the motel, pleased with their success.

\-------------------------------------------

It was late October, and the temperatures in the mountain town of Gatlinburg were already dipping into the forties at night, promising a cold winter. Chloe tightened her jacket as she stood on the back porch overlooking the creek, straining her eyes in the darkness to see the water she could hear flowing over rocks below. She felt her shirt shift against the sensitive skin on her back, and grimaced. The pain had faded, mostly, but the odd sensation left from the feeling of the needle biting into her skin meant that she was still hyper aware of the presence of the tattoo.

It had been almost four months since the first time he had brought up the subject when Sam announced he had the names of three tattoo parlors that had ties to hunters. They had been just outside of Corinth, Missouri, taking care of their third salt and burn job since the old couple in Kentucky, and in the interim, had taken out both a wraith and a rawhead. Chloe had documented all of their cases in her blog, although the rawhead had been the most interesting to her, if only because for the first time in her experience, Sam had insisted on taking the lead on a hunt rather than their usual “come at it from both sides and share the wealth” approach. Dean had been visibly annoyed with Sam’s stubbornness, but had set his jaw and acquiesced, with less complaint than Chloe would have expected. When she and Dean had a few minutes alone, he had told her, with some prompting, that they had once had a little trouble with a rawhead hunt; Dean had been electrocuted and it had knocked him “out of commission for awhile.” He had been rather blasé in the explanation, but Chloe watched Sam closely throughout the hunt; watched as he was even more aware of his brother’s movements than usual, saw the glint of fear in his eyes when the ugly rawhead got a little too close to Dean’s side of the warehouse for comfort, and she knew that whatever had happened the first time must have been much worse than Dean let on. Once the rawhead was dead, Sam was back to his usual self, but Chloe was quiet that night; listening to the brothers good-naturedly insult each other over beers in a smoky bar. It had been the first time she had seen Sam show real fear, and it unnerved her to think of what must have befallen Dean for Sam to react that way. Sometimes it was easy to forget how dangerous what they did was; killing evil creatures was their way of life, and they approached each case with such ease and confidence, it was easy to assume they would always land on their feet at the end of the day, bodies and minds intact.

So when Sam brought up the tattoos again, and insisted to her how safe it would make them, she saw the earnestness in his eyes, remembered the fear that had shined there recently, and agreed to get it done.

All three parlors on the list were run by people who knew of hunters, either because they were in the family, or had been helped by one. The closest one to Missouri was in Knoxville, Tennessee, so they had driven there and met Ivan Resco, a big, burly, biker sort, whose brother had been a hunter before falling to a nest of vampires.

Sam had been first, then Dean, each opting to have the tattoo inked to his chest where it would stay hidden behind a shirt. Both played the strong, silent type throughout, Sam wincing a bit here and there, but Dean locked his eyes on Chloe’s and half-grinned at her the entire time, as if to prove to her how easy it was. See? Nothing to it.

When Dean was done, and all three men turned to look at her, Chloe froze for a moment, considering her options. She could let Dean get her drunk, and come back later. She could refuse, she could run, she could…and then Chloe had gotten a hold of herself, ashamed for even considering running. Come on, Sullivan. You’ve faced death three times; you can face a stupid needle. She had squared her shoulders, lay down on her stomach, and pulled the back of her shirt up.

Dean sat in a chair beside her head and held her hand while Sam hovered protectively over them both. If she made any soft noises in the back of her throat, neither of them mentioned it. She did find it interesting that both of their faces were paler during her inking than they had been during their own.

Ivan had broken out the beer afterward, toasting his brother’s memory, then John Winchester’s, and then discussion turned to comparing experiences (Ivan had accompanied his brother only a few times, but they had been memorable to him), and possible local cases. When they left the parlor to head to their motel it was after midnight, and Chloe was carrying a clipped article about two recent deaths in nearby Gatlinburg.

It was only an hour’s drive, and Chloe’s fingers flew over the keyboard the next day as Dean maneuvered the Impala down highway 441. When they passed the sign welcoming them to the city, she leaned forward over the front seat to make herself heard.

“Turn right at the next light.”

“What? Why?” Dean threw her a puzzled glance in the mirror.

“Just do it,” she replied smiling.

Dean looked over at Sam, who shrugged, then looked back in the mirror. “Whatever you say, dear,” he smirked, turning.

She guided him into a parking lot, then jumped out of the car carrying her purse, leaving both brothers to watch, open-mouthed, as she walked into a building with the business name Parkside Cabin Rentals.

“She didn’t,” Dean grunted.

“I think she did,” Sam replied.

Ten minutes later, she walked back out, a big smile on her face. “We’re all set,” she said cheerfully, climbing back into the car.

Dean and Sam both turned to look at her. “Tell me you didn’t set us up in some prissy cabin with a heart-shaped tub,” Dean said.

“Uh, no, that would be awkward. But I did get us a cabin with two king bedrooms, a fireplace, and a hot tub on the back porch.” She continued to smile at him, and he would’ve sworn that she was being deliberately perky.

“Is there something wrong with a good old-fashioned motel?”

“Dean, we’ve been going nonstop for months. It’ll be good to stay somewhere we can spread out for a while, maybe get a little privacy. No offense,” she glanced at Sam with a little smile.

“None taken,” he replied, smiling back.

“We’ll still be working a case, and it’s just for a week.”

“A week? We don’t even know if there’s anything to hunt yet,” Dean objected.

Chloe raised an eyebrow. “Dean, my back is sore from a tattoo that you wanted me to get. I am going to sleep in comfort on a king size bed in my own bedroom tonight. Sam is going to sleep in his king size bed. You can either sleep in a bed, or on the fold out couch in the living room, but either way, we are staying at that cabin. Here are the directions.” She handed him a piece of paper and then sat back in her seat, staring at him. He took the paper, glanced at the written directions, then looked up at Sam.

Sam shook his head. “Don’t look at me. You sure aren’t sleeping in my bed tonight.”

Dean had come around when he saw the cabin. It was quiet and secluded, with simple, sturdy furniture and no girly features. By the time he and Sam left to pick up their pizza order, he had a fire roaring in the fireplace and had suggested skinny dipping in the hot tub.

Chloe was still listening to the creek when she heard the front door slam and Dean calling her name. She opened the back door and stepped over the salt line, smiling.


	9. Chapter 9

Chloe walked down the sidewalk, hunching her shoulders inside her jacket. She was going to have to make a stop in Metropolis soon and pick up more of her winter clothing before it got too much colder. Living out of a car made it difficult to carry too much in the way of clothes, and so far she had gotten by on a couple pairs of jeans and t-shirts, a pair of sweats, and a business suit. Her one jacket was a little thin to withstand a real winter, but fitting heavy coats or trenches in her baggage was going to be tough.

She had left Sam and Dean to take the car and pick up supplies for the cabin and was window shopping down Gatlinburg’s main drag. She’d seen a few trinkets here and there, possible Christmas gifts for Lois and Clark, and while she couldn’t carry them with her now, she could always make Dean stop back through Tennessee sometime before the holidays if she decided to purchase them. Thinking of Christmas reminded her that she wanted to ask the boys what they usually did for the holidays so she could prepare.

A sparkling Tiffany lamp drew her eye to the window she was passing; it was beautiful, with stained green glass circling the base. She smiled and walked to the door, taking note of the name of the shop, Morton’s Antiques.

Chloe made her way though the shop slowly; it was filled with sparkling chandeliers, elegant furniture, and very expensive art. It took some time to wind her way through the aisles towards the back of the store, but the further she got, the better she was able to hear the conversation, or rather, disagreement, taking place.

“Mr. Morton, I have the signed agreement right here. I fully intend to take the collection back to New York with me today.” It was a young woman’s voice, speaking in a measured, firm tone.

“I have a buyer from San Francisco who has offered almost twice what you did.” This voice was male, older, and irritated.

“You agreed to our offer, and signed the contract. If you don’t wish to honor the contract now, I can have our lawyers contact you.”

“Don’t threaten me, young woman.”

“It’s Ms. Blake, and it was not a threat.” Chloe was close enough now to see over a mahogany dresser and watch as the woman pulled a cell phone out of a designer handbag and began dialing.

The man’s lips thinned. “Fine, Ms. Blake. Take the collection, but don’t bother attempting to do business with us again.”

“I can assure you, we won’t. If you’ll be so kind as to open the back loading dock so my associates can load the collection?” She smiled with forced politeness at him until he huffed and stomped off out of sight through what Chloe assumed was the door to the office and back entrance.

The woman, Ms. Blake, Chloe thought, sighed and put her cell phone away, then turned and began making her way to the front of the store. She appeared to be around Chloe’s own age, which made her remarkably young to have carried off the overheard exchange. Remembering her own experiences of going toe to toe with Lionel Luthor, Chloe felt a sudden kinship with her and smiled.

“That was impressive.”

The young woman looked at her, taking note of Chloe’s genuine smile, then smiled back. “Thank you. I’m sorry if we interrupted your shopping, although I’m not sure I would recommend purchasing from here. Their prices are not what I would call…competitive.” She extended her hand. “Sarah Blake. My father and I run an art auction house in New York.”

Chloe grasped her hand. “Chloe Sullivan, journalist from Kansas. And I don’t think I’ll be purchasing anything today. I’ve dealt with Mr. Morton’s type before, and I don’t think he needs my business.”

“He is rather overbearing.”

“Not to mention chauvinistic.”

“He reminds me of my father,” Sarah said wryly. “So are you vacationing?”

Chloe grinned. “Sort of a road trip with friends.”

“Well if you’re ever ‘roadtripping’ through upstate New York, you should stop by; maybe we can compare notes on how to deal with the men in our businesses.” She handed Chloe a business card.

“I’d like that,” Chloe replied.

Sarah smiled. “It was nice to meet you.” She turned and walked away, leaving Chloe to slip the business card into her pocket and finish her window shopping.

\------------------------------

Chloe met up with Dean and Sam in front of a walk up restaurant called Mama Bear’s. Dean was eyeing the flat cooking surface behind the glass, where a row of smoked sausages sat steaming, with mounds of cooked onions and peppers next to them.

“Hey. Did you guys get the supplies?”

Sam nodded. “Yes, and information. Like Ivan said, the two men who died were both bakery owners. Apparently they were rivals, and had been competing against each other for years. Two months ago, one, Tim Reese, was found in his walk-in freezer, and the other guy, Paul Carter, was considered a suspect, but he had an alibi. Then three weeks later, Carter was found dead in the back of his bakery. The police think he slipped and hit his head on a counter.”

Chloe frowned. “That’s unfortunate, but what makes it a case for us?”

“The police found some kind of symbols drawn on the back of the freezer door, and underneath the counter,” Dean replied. “Could be some kind of ritual killing.”

“Do we know what the symbols look like?” Chloe asked.

Sam shook his head. “Not yet, and apparently the one in the freezer has already been removed. The family is cleaning up the building and putting it up for sale. The other bakery, though, hasn’t been touched since the police released the crime scene. We might be able to get in tonight and take a look.”

Chloe cocked her head. “How did you find all this out?”

Dean grinned at Chloe. “The checkout girl at the store was up on all the latest gossip.”

Chloe rolled her eyes. “I bet.”

“One more thing,” Sam said. “There’s a third bakery; well, now it’s the only bakery. It opened six months ago.”

“Oh? Did the new owner get involved with the rivalry?” Chloe asked.

“No, apparently not. It’s run by three local women; they grew up in the area, and seem to be friendly with everyone.”

“Where’s the bakery?”

“Just a couple blocks away.” Sam turned to lead the way, and Chloe began to follow, but Dean hung back.

“Wait, what about lunch?”

Sam turned back, annoyed. “Dean, it’s only 10:30.”

“Yeah, but I worked up an appetite with all that gossip gathering.” He gave Chloe a teasing grin, and she laughed.

“Just for that, you can wait,” she replied.

\------------------------------

They stood outside the bakery, looking over the small shop with the words “The Pie Girls” displayed in large script lettering made of wood painted a glowing purple. The shop appeared to be doing a brisk business, the door constantly opening and closing as customers walked in empty-handed, then back out again carrying white paper bags filled with fresh baked pastries.

The three walked into the shop, stopping to glance around. The tall, glass covered pastry shelves stretched almost the length of the small space, with a counter running across the top. The shelves were filled with a variety of pies, cakes, cookies, muffins, and other baked goods. Five or six small square tables with deep purple tablecloths and matching chairs were set up against the walls for customers to sit and eat or wait on their orders. Large windows ran across the walls on either side of the entrance, with dark purple, velvet curtains drawn back to the sides, and white twinkling lights twisted around the valances. Iron and glass artwork in star and moon shapes holding tea light candles were displayed on the side walls.

Chloe found the shop to be an odd mixture of cozy and new-age. She looked across the counter at the three women visible on the other side, helping customers. All three appeared to be in their twenties, and were brunette, although their hairstyles were different. Chloe watched as the girl with a short, sleek bob and a pretty smile finished a transaction, then smiled charmingly at the newcomers…and at Dean and Sam, specifically.

“Welcome to our bakery. This your first time?”

Dean chuckled, and Chloe didn’t have to look at his face to know what expression he was displaying. “It sure is. Are you one of the actual Pie Girls?”

“Yep, I’m Megan, and those are my cousins, Kendall and Staci. We run the shop together.”

“That’s pretty ambitious; you and your cousins running a bakery together,” Sam said. “You do all the actual baking yourselves?”

“Yes, we bake everything from scratch ourselves. Our mothers taught us how to bake, and we thought we’d give it a shot, see if we could make a living at it,” Megan replied. Her hands were busy beneath the high counter, but Chloe couldn’t tell what she was working on. “One day we were talking and just came up with the Pie Girls idea.”

“Awesome name,” Dean replied, grinning, and Chloe had to hold in an eye roll.

Megan lifted a plate with a slice of pie over the counter. “Here you go. First timers always get a complimentary slice of our best pie.”

She tried handing it to Sam, but he shook his head. “No, thank you.”

Chloe also declined, but Dean stepped up to the counter. “I would love to try your pie.”

She smiled dazzlingly at him. “It’s boysenberry pie, and it’s special.”

Dean’s grin grew into a leer. “I’ll bet it-“ He bit off the words, face flinching, as Chloe, smiling straight at Megan, brought her heel down on his boot.

“Thank you so much. We’ll just go sit over here,” Chloe said, as Sam took the plate from Megan, stifling a laugh. Chloe took Dean’s hand. “Come on, sweetheart, let’s go sit down.” She led him over to one of the far tables, Sam following with the plate which he set on the table before sitting across from them.

Dean’s face had shifted through a myriad of expressions as he held in the pain, but now he let it out, staring at Chloe. “Okay – Ow! What was that for?”

She smiled sweetly at him. “There were actual customers lining up behind us, it was time to wrap it up. Are you ready to go?”

Dean shook his head. “Hell, no, I’m eating my pie.” He grabbed a fork from the place setting and defiantly dug into the pie.

Chloe didn’t bother suppressing her eye roll this time. She looked over at Sam. “So what do you think?”

He shook his head. “I don’t know, they seem nice enough, and they appear to be working hard to keep the shop running.” He glanced around them. “The décor’s a little new-agey, but I don’t see any weird symbols or anything.”

“Oh my God!”

Chloe and Sam both turned their heads quickly to stare at Dean, whose mouth was full of pie.

“Best pie ever! Seriously, you should try some,” he said.

Chloe shook her head, noticing as she did that the three girls behind the counter were all staring in Dean’s direction, as if looking for something. She frowned, annoyed by their attention, and decided it was time to make her presence felt. She turned back to face Dean, who had finally swallowed the mouthful of pie.

“You know what? I think I will taste it,” she said, then wrapped her hand around the back of his neck and pulled his head down into her kiss. Dean needed no encouragement to open his mouth into hers, letting her control the kiss and taste the warm sweetness of the boysenberries. She felt his hand slide across her arm up to her shoulder, and had to pull back before the kiss turned into a make out session.

His dark green eyes looked at her intensely, with a hint of amusement. “Good pie?” he asked, the corner of his mouth quirked up.

She smiled into his eyes, pleased and a little dizzy. “Very. Can we go now?”

“Absolutely.” He clasped her hand in his, standing drawing her up with him, then looked at Sam. “We’re heading to the cabin.”

Sam grinned. “I’ll be back in a couple hours.”

As she and Dean made their way out of the shop, Chloe glanced back at the girls behind the counter. Two of them were busy helping customers, but the other girl, Megan was still looking at Dean, a tiny smile on her lips. Then the door closed and she and Dean were striding down the sidewalk through the sunshine.

She turned her head to look back at the shop and caught a glimpse of purple in the corner of her eye. She looked back at Dean who had been in her peripheral vision, but lost track of the purple glow.

“What is it?” he asked.

“Nothing,” she replied. “Sun’s playing tricks on my eyes.”

\--------------------------------------------

Chloe, Dean, and Sam had a late dinner at Blaine’s Bar and Grill, staying to nurse beers until the crowd began to thin out. They left the bar, and walked down the sidewalk to the far end of town, where Carter’s Bakery sat nestled between two pottery stores, both long closed for the night. Chloe sat on a bench in front of the shop keeping watch over the deserted street while the brothers checked the building. Determining there was no alarm system set up, Dean brought Chloe around back where Sam knelt to pick the lock. It was a simple mechanism, and in no time Sam had the door open and was leading them in.

“If I’m going to make a habit of breaking and entering, I really need to learn how to pick a lock that fast,” Chloe said, speaking quietly.

Sam smiled. “You should practice on the cabin doors while we stay here,” he replied, also keeping his voice down. “Dean and I used to race to see who could pick a lock the fastest.”

“Your dad taught you?”

“He was the one holding the stopwatch,” Dean cut in, grinning.

They made their way through the back storeroom, shining their flashlights over the walls and floor. They easily found where police tape still marked the position of the body, and all three knelt down to look underneath the nearby counter, flashlights illuminating a symbol that resembled a triangle with a star in the middle, arching lines protruding from each of the three points. Dean ran a finger over one line, then pulled it back to see black dust on his skin.

“Charcoal,” he said.

Sam nodded, and sketched the symbol on to the little notebook he had brought along. “I don’t recognize the symbol, do you?”

“No. Let’s head back, check Dad’s journal and anywhere else you can think of.”

They left the bakery, locking the door behind them, and slipped through the shadows back around the building to the sidewalk.


	10. Chapter 10

It was after 3:00 AM, and Chloe had left Dean sleeping in their room to sit in the hot tub, letting the water jets massage her back and shoulders. After they had returned to the cabin, Sam had checked their father’s journal for the symbol they had found, but had come up empty. They made plans to hit the local library the next day and turned in to sleep. Dean drifted off right away, but Chloe had tossed and turned, finally deciding to get up before she woke him. She had walked around the small cabin as quietly as possible, but the wood planks creaked loudly, making her afraid of waking up both Dean and Sam. Remembering the hot tub outside, she had quietly changed into her swimsuit and slipped outside.

It was forty degrees that night, cold and perfect for sitting in one hundred two degree water. Chloe leaned back, thinking about the pie shop they had visited, and remembering the glow she had seen from the corner of her eye. Something about it tickled her memory, made her feel like she knew something important, but just couldn’t quite grasp it.

She was pulled out of her thoughts by the door creaking open, and Dean appeared, wearing the t-shirt and boxers he had fallen asleep in. His hair was tousled from the pillow, and his eyes looked sleepy.

“Chloe, what are you doing?”

“I couldn’t sleep, and I didn’t want to wake you.”

“Is something wrong?” Dean asked, crossing his arms over his chest, trying to ward off the cold air.

“Not really, just thinking about the case. I’ll be in later. You should go back to sleep.”

Dean lifted an eyebrow, then pulled his t-shirt over his head.

“Dean, what are you doing?”

“I’m getting in with you,” he replied, stripping off his boxers. “Holy shit, it’s cold out here.” He tossed the boxers on the chair on top of the t-shirt, then climbed in on the side opposite where she was sitting.

“Holy shit, that’s hot!” Dean grunted, causing Chloe to giggle. “Are you laughing at me?” he asked gruffly, lowering himself into the water.

“I wouldn’t dare,” she said, still giggling.

He finally ducked down enough for the water to come up to his shoulders, hissing a little at the heat. “Don’t make me come over there,” he warned.

“Or what? ‘Cause you don’t look too scary flopping around and complaining about the hot water,” Chloe replied.

She let out a high-pitched squeal when he was suddenly directly in front of her, water swirling in his wake. She was perched on a built-in bench beneath the water, and Dean settled his knees on the bench around her, effectively straddling her, but allowing his legs and the water to hold his weight. His hands dipped under water, trailing across her sides and meeting against her back, where she could feel them working at the closure of her bikini top.

“Dean!” she hissed, a little scandalized. “What if Sam comes out here?”

He leaned forward, brushing his mouth across her cheek, moving towards her ear, and his breath felt as hot as the steam rising from the water. “Don’t worry,” he murmured. “Sam’s asleep. Even if he did wake up, he’s too pansy to come out here in the cold. You know, I like this red bikini on you.”

“I thought white lace was your favorite?” she asked, a little breathless.

“I have lots of favorites,” he replied, his tongue edging around the pulse point under her ear.

She smiled and closed her eyes as she felt his hands pull the swimsuit top away and slide down her back, then leaned into the kisses ghosting across her skin.

\------------------------------------------

Sam and Chloe visited the library that morning, bringing back three books on the folklore of witchcraft, which had earned them a hard stare from the librarian. They and Dean sat down to read through them, along with the handful of books Sam had borrowed from Bobby that they carried in the trunk.

They had gotten a little over halfway through all the information with no sign of the symbol by early evening. Dean stood and stretched, tossing the book he had been looking through onto the coffee table.

“I’m about sick of this. No symbol, no leads, nothing,” he complained.

Chloe looked up at him thoughtfully. “Something was off about those girls at the third bakery,” she said.

“The Pie Girls? Come on, they were awesome,” Dean replied, grinning.

“You just like them because they gave you free pie,” Chloe retorted.

“How many bad guys do you know that hand out free pie? Seriously.”

“Whatever, Dean. I just have a bad feeling about them.”

“I tell you what, let’s head back to the bakery; talk to them again. They do seem to be the ones with the most to gain from the deaths.”

“You just want more pie. Take Sam with you. I’ll stay here, see if I can figure out this symbol.”

“Are you sure, Chloe? There are still a lot of books to go through,” Sam said.

“I’m sure. Go with Dean, keep him out of trouble,” Chloe replied. “And bring something to eat back with you. It’s getting late.” She caught Dean’s smirk at her as he walked out the door. “But not pie!” she called after them as the door shut.

“I don’t want any of that stupid pie,” she muttered to herself.

\-----------------------------------------------

They walked past the shops and took the side street that lead to the quiet corner where the bakery stood, set back and away from the main drag. Just as they were walking up to the door it opened and the girl who had served Dean yesterday, Meghan, stepped out and turned the “Open” sign hanging on the wall around so it now read “Closed”. She heard their approach and turned, her eyebrows rising in surprise.

“I remember you, first-timer from yesterday, right?”

Dean grinned. “I’m thrilled you remember me. I’m Dean, and this is my brother Sam. We thought we’d stop in, maybe have some more of that delicious pie, but it looks like we’re too late.”

Meghan smiled widely. “Oh please, come right in, I’ll just lock up behind you.” She held the door open to allow them to walk through, then closed and locked it. She then stepped to the windows on either side of the door and closed the curtains. She turned to face the counter as the other two girls, Kendall and Staci, walked out from the back room, their eyes widening when they saw Dean and Sam standing inside.

“Have a seat, Dean and Sam, and we’ll get you some pie. And how about some coffee, too? Girls, you remember them don’t you? The first-timers from yesterday? They’re brothers.”

Both girls reacted, and Sam began to get an uneasy feeling. Their expressions were identical; cat-who-ate-the-canary smiles suddenly spreading across their faces. The girl with the long, straight hair, Kendall, turned to pour cups of coffee, while the curly-headed one, Staci, began cutting slices of pie.

Meghan busied herself wiping down the other tables until Kendall brought a tray holding two cups of coffee and two slices of pie over to the brothers’ table, laying them out neatly and walking away with the tray.

“Would you like some cream or sugar for your coffee?” Meghan asked, coming to stand beside their table with a small pitcher of cream.

“Black’s fine, thanks,” Dean replied, grabbing his cup and taking a sip. Sam nodded, agreeing, and followed suit.

“So, it’s kind of freaky, two different bakery owners in the same town, expiring within weeks of each other,” Dean said, before taking a bite of his pie. “Wow, this pie is just as good as yesterday’s. What kind is this?”

“Blackberry,” Meghan replied. She looked at Sam. “Don’t you want to try it?”

“Uh, sure,” Sam said, cutting of a small piece with the side of his fork, and tasting it. “It’s very good.”

Dean rolled his eyes and looked at Meghan. “Don’t mind him, he wouldn’t know a good pie if it bit him. So were you worried at all, with the other two bakery owners dying? You know how they say bad things happen in threes…”

Meghan raised an eyebrow. “Three is a special number,” she replied. “But no, we’re not worried. We’ve been pretty lucky so far; business is booming, plenty of tourists, lots of repeat customers, great reviews in the paper. I don’t see that stopping any time soon.”

Sam looked up at her. “I imagine some of those repeat customers were from the other two bakeries, after they closed.”

She smiled. “That was the point.”

Both Sam and Dean frowned. “What?” Sam asked, watching as the other two girls walked up, flanking Meghan.

“That’s why we killed them. To increase our business, make more money.”

Dean squinted his eyes, feeling a little lightheaded. “Wait, are you admitting you killed both men?”

“Yes, I am. Isn’t that what you wanted to hear? Remember Andrea the checkout girl at the grocery store? She’s a good friend of ours, and she told us all about the cute guys asking questions about the recent deaths. What are you, undercover policemen?”

“If that’s who you think we are, why are you admitting it?” Sam asked, his voice strained. He blinked his eyes, feeling as if his eyelids were in slow motion. Every muscle in his body felt heavy, sluggish. It was an effort to look up at Dean, and when he did, he could see Dean leaning forward, his head hanging as if it was too heavy to lift. “Did you…did you drug us?”

Meghan deftly moved the pie plates and coffee cups off the table and out of the way, handing them back to the other girls. “Yes we did. See, even before we saw Andrea this morning, we pegged Dean as being exactly who we needed for a little ritual we’ve been planning. You might say we’re on a bit of a payment plan, and we’re a little past due. Dean is going to help us settle that debt.”

“How do you…how d’you know…” Sam could hear Dean’s words slurring together.

“Oh, Dean. I told you the pie was special. It gave you a pretty purple glow when you left here yesterday. Don’t worry, it was very manly. Means you have the right kind of blood to give him the power he wants out of the ritual. Only the best will do, and people with the right bloodline are very hard to find. That’s why we’re a little behind on the payment. And finding out you two are brothers? Bonus. One to pay the debt, the other to make up for being late.”

Sam was listening to her voice through a haze, and realized his head was laying hard against the table. He tried to lift his head to find Dean, but couldn’t. “Who?” he gasped out.

“Don’t worry. The poison is fast-acting, but it doesn’t last long. You’ll be awake when he comes to collect.”

Sam’s world went black.


	11. Chapter 11

A hedge witch or wizard is one who was not born with abilities, but rather, had power conveyed to them by another, either as a favor, or in payment. Hedge witches were looked on contemptuously due to their lack of innate ability, and were often the lowest members of a coven, used to carry out menial tasks for the more powerful members.

Chloe sighed, tossing the book on to the couch in frustration. A small headache had formed behind her eyes, and her stomach was beginning to growl. She glanced at the clock and became more annoyed. Dean and Sam really should have been back by now, with dinner. If she found out that Dean had stayed at the bakery and stuffed himself on pie while she sat here and starved…

She grabbed another book from the pile, this one titled Legends of Sorcery, and began flipping through the pages. She had just turned to page fifty-three when a dark blot caught her eye. She sat up quickly, reaching for Sam’s drawing of the symbol and held it next to the bolded picture in the book. It was a match. She read the inscription on the page beside the picture.

The sorcerer Lucius was said to use this symbol as a sign of his handiwork.

Chloe flipped quickly to the back of the book, finding the index and an entry for the name “Lucius” then turned to the appropriate page. There was an illustration of a small man wearing a long, purple cape, his face hidden by shadow.

Lucius DeMalle was a minor nobleman in 16th century France who was suspected of being a sorcerer. He was known to be eccentric, holding a large banquet for the local peasants on at least one occasion. Rumors that DeMalle was experimenting with human sacrifice as a way to increase his power were fueled by disappearances among the locals. The Catholic Church once sent a delegation to question DeMalle on charges of witchcraft, but found the road blocked by an overgrown berry hedge. They were forced to turn back, noting the placement and growth of the hedge to be “not natural.”

Due to his suspected status as a sorcerer, DeMalle was said to be responsible for the deaths of Pierre and Francois Leblanc, sons of a rival noble family. Both men were found on Leblanc hunting grounds, necks broken as if both had fallen from a horse. A symbol said to be DeMalle’s signature was burned into the ground beside the bodies.

Legend has it that DeMalle disappeared from his estate at the age of fifty, leaving behind his personal spellbook to be cared for by a trusted servant. There is no record of the existence of that spellbook.

Chloe’s mind raced; this had to be the answer, the symbol was right. Had someone killed the two bakers and simply used the symbol as an homage to something they had read, or was the symbol itself part of a ritual? Chloe read through the passage again, and stared at the illustration of the sorcerer Lucius. The purple of the cape was almost lurid, and it occurred to her where she had seen that glowing color before.

“Damn it!” Chloe exclaimed, and reached for the laptop and her cell phone. She typed in a website that she and Sam had scanned earlier while speed dialing Dean and sticking the phone between her shoulder and ear. She clicked through the pages of the website furiously until Dean’s voicemail answered and she reached up to grab the phone and dial again, this time using Sam’s number. Sam’s voicemail answered at the same time Chloe found what she was looking for, and tossing the phone to the side, she grabbed Sam’s notebook and began copying down words, muttering them to herself at the same time.

Chloe tore the paper from the notebook, stuffing it in her pocket as she hurried towards the front door, sighing in relief to see the keys to the Impala on the table and snatching them up before exiting the cabin, thankful the brothers had walked into town. She pulled open the driver door and slid into the Impala, realizing this would be the first time she had ever driven Dean’s car. She turned the keys in the ignition and listened as the car roared to life, then patted the steering wheel before putting the car in reverse.

“It’s just you and me, baby. Let’s go get our boys.”

\----------------------------------------------------------

Dean groaned, feeling sick to his stomach. He opened his eyes, squinting and blinking to try and get the blurriness to fade. As his surroundings came into focus, he could tell he was in the back of the bakery, facing the wall that separated the kitchen from the front shop. The doorway between the two was open, and he could see the counter holding the cash register and well beyond that, the closed purple curtains.

“Dean!”

Dean turned his head to find Sam about three feet away and realized they were both in the same predicament; tied to chairs with their hands behind their backs. He groaned, licking his lips, then grimaced.

“Man, whatever they fed us tastes like ass.”

An amused voice carried from behind his head. “Don’t worry, the taste will fade, not that you’ll be alive long enough to notice.” A smiling Meghan walked around and into his line of sight.

“So you’re going to sacrifice us? That what you did to those other two guys?”

Meghan shook her head. “Oh no, we just needed them out of the way to kick start our business. It’s been hard to find the right people, so you can imagine our excitement when you walked out of here the other day all aglow.”

Sam shot Dean a look. “You just had to eat that damn pie,” he muttered.

Dean shrugged his shoulders, looking affronted. “It was pie! And can we assign blame later?”

Sam just shook his head as the other two girls walked over, carrying supplies that they set on the table that sat against the forward wall, then began spreading the items out in what appeared to be a precise pattern. Meghan walked over to the table and picked up a small bowl, then turned back to Dean.

He leaned back away from her, as far as the back of the chair would allow, as she straddled him, sitting in his lap. She wasn’t deterred, though, and leaned forward into him, licking at his jawline and throat, trying to capture his lips, but he stretched his head out to the side, trying to avoid her.

“You know, a few months ago I might not protest, but my girl’s gonna be super pissed if she finds out about this. You don’t want to be responsible for my death, do you?” he asked hopefully.

Meghan just grinned at him, pulling a wicked-looking dagger out of the waistband of her pants. Dean sighed and nodded a little. “Okay, stupid question.”

“Don’t worry, Dean. I just need a little blood to get the ceremony going. We’re not quite ready for the final act yet.” She loosened the first couple buttons of his shirt, exposing his skin, then held the small bowl up and positioned the dagger at his chest. He held his breath as he felt her put pressure on the knife, but then felt her freeze at the sound of a gun cocking.

“Get off him, bitch.”

\--------------------------------------------------

Chloe parked the Impala in an empty lot across the street from the bakery, ignoring the sign that promised the vehicle would be towed at the owner’s expense. She pushed the keys deep into her left jeans pocket where they wouldn’t make noise, then silenced her cell phone and shoved it into her pocket as well. She got out of the car and, looking around to make sure no one was in sight, tucked her Beretta into her jeans, slipping her jacket on as well to cover the handle. Closing the door, she took a deep breath and laid her hand on the cool black metal. “Wish me luck.”

Looking both ways into the growing darkness, she ran across the quiet road, then up to the shop, her eyes roaming over the front, noticing the drawn curtains and closed sign. She edged up to the side of one window, peering in carefully, but was unable to see anything through the curtain. She moved on to the other one and found a sliver of space left between the curtains. Chloe could just make out the table in front of the window, and part of the front counter, but couldn’t see any movement. She placed one hand gently on the doorknob, turning it slowly and silently a few inches until it stopped, held by the lock. Wishing she had taken Sam’s advice and practiced in the cabin, she pulled her lockpicking tools out of her jacket and began working at the lock as quietly as possible. She wasn’t as fast as Sam, but she finally heard the click and winced, hoping no one else had. Pocketing the tools and pulling her gun, she carefully opened the door just enough to slide inside, her eyes darting all around, confirming that the front of the shop was empty. She heard voices from the doorway to the kitchen, and carefully closing the door behind her, she stepped quietly around the counter and eased her way to the opening, first seeing Dean and Meghan, then stepping in enough to see Sam and the two girls working at the table in front of him. Sam’s eyes caught her movement, and he looked up at her silently, eyes intense. Relief swept through her that she had arrived in time, then anger as she took in the brothers’ position, and the fact that Meghan was practically snuggled into Dean’s lap, and was holding a dagger up to his chest. She clicked the safety off the gun and said the first thing that came to mind.

“Get off him, bitch.”

She saw Meghan’s hand on the dagger go still, and also saw the two girls in her peripheral vision look in her direction, one of them taking a step towards her. She glanced in their direction. “Don’t even think about it. I’ll have shot her in the back before you get three steps.” She looked back to see Dean craning his head over Meghan’s shoulder, eyes wide and with a falsely cheerful smile.

“Uh, hi sweetheart. This isn’t what it looks like.”

Chloe arched an eyebrow. “It looks like a wannabe witch is either trying to kill you or get in your pants.”

Dean rolled his eyes a bit. “Okay, it’s exactly what it looks like.”

“Get off him, now,” Chloe repeated firmly, and finally, Meghan complied, looking angry. She slid back off of Dean’s lap and stood, turning slowly.

“Drop the knife, then step over next to the others,” Chloe ordered.

Meghan did what she was told, speaking as she walked slowly towards the table where Kendall and Staci stood. “You have no idea who you’re messing with.”

“Oh, I think I do. You’re witches, or at least, you want to be witches. You’ve probably tried to dabble in the dark arts for a while, but never successfully, until you came across an old spellbook one day. You tried one of the easier spells in it, and it worked, but it also released the spirit of the sorcerer it belonged to, Lucius DeMalle. Lucius told you he was a powerful sorcerer, and that he could supply you with enough power to cast his spells if you could supply him with the right kind of sacrifices. That’s why all of the “first-timers” get the special pie – you put one of his spells on it to identify any tourists that come to town that would qualify for the sacrifice ritual. I’ll bet if I check the records, I’ll find that one or two tourists have disappeared in the last few months. How am I doing so far?”

Meghan just scowled, while the other two girls looked scared. Dean looked over at Sam, grinning. Smart chick, he mouthed, jerking his head at Chloe, and Sam grinned back.

“Here’s the thing,” Chloe continued. “While you guys were working on your junior badges for witchcraft, I was possessed by the real thing, a witch named Madelyn. I didn’t realize what it was at first, but I saw the glow on Dean.” She shifted the gun to her left hand and dug the notebook paper out of her pocket. “I’m pretty sure that means I can do this.” She glanced at the paper and began chanting.

Dean, whose eyes had widened while listening to Chloe, whipped his head around to stare at the three girls who began moaning and clutching at their stomachs, dropping to the floor. He looked at Sam. “Dude, what the hell is going on?” he asked, raising his voice over the groans and the chanting.

Sam shook his head. “I don’t know. Maybe she’s binding the magic out of them?”

Chloe stopped chanting, and Dean and Sam both felt a small electrical jolt, punctuated by renewed groans from the trio who were now collapsed against the floor. “That’s exactly what I did,” Chloe said, tucking the gun back into her jeans and dropping down beside Dean’s chair. “Although I wasn’t entirely sure it would work.” She began tugging on the ropes around Dean’s wrists. “You just had to eat that pie, didn’t you?” Sam snorted.

“It was pie!” Dean retorted. “What do you mean, you weren’t sure it would work?”

“I’m not a real witch, Dean. I’m just sensitive to it after being possessed by one.” Chloe untied the last knot, then moved over to free Sam.

“What about these three?” Dean asked, eyeing the girls who were still lying on the floor, eyelids flickering.

“They’re fine for now. I basically pulled whatever power he put into them back out. It would’ve been painful. They’re not going anywhere for a while.” She pulled Sam’s ropes free and stood, watching as he also stood and began rubbing his wrists. “Are you both alright?”

“We’re fine, thanks to you,” Sam replied. “So…an evil sorcerer?”

“Yeah, we need to find his spellbook,” Chloe said, looking at the supplies on the table. “Did you see them using one?”

“No, but they had us drugged for a while, so…” Sam cut off as the lights overhead began flickering.

“What the hell?” Dean asked.

“It’s him – Lucius,” Chloe replied. “We need to find that spellbook and burn it – that’s what’s holding him here!”

“Did you bring the Impala?” Dean asked.

Chloe nodded and dug the keys out of her pocket, tossing them at Dean, who caught them in his right hand. “Great. Find the book. Sam, see if you can find some salt. I’ll go get the shotgun.”

He disappeared through the doorway, leaving Sam and Chloe to search the kitchen. Chloe saw the small office off to the corner and ran in, spotting the yellowed tome lying open in the middle of the desk. “I found it!” she called, and grabbed it off the table, re-entering the kitchen just in time to see the shadowy outline of a small man in a cape rise up in the middle of the wall, then run black across it, stretching over the three girls, who began choking as if their air supply had been cut off.

“No!” Chloe rushed forward towards them, only to be caught by Sam’s hand gripping her arm and pulling her back.

“No, Chloe, stay away from it,” Sam ordered, grabbing the book from her and dropping it on the floor. He grasped a handful of salt out of a half full bag he had found on the shelf and sprinkled it over the book.

“Sam!”

Sam looked up to see Dean in the doorway, shotgun in one hand and a lighter in the other. He held up his own hand and caught the lighter in mid-air, then flicked it open and brought the flame to life. The book caught quickly, the yellow pages fading to brown underneath the flames. Chloe looked up as the shadow over the now-quiet girls drifted forward across the floor, then shimmered and materialized into a small-statured man wearing a purple cape. He stared at them with dark and malevolent eyes before his form disintegrated into a puff of flame and smoke. Chloe looked down to find all that remained of the book was a pile of smoking ash.

She ran across the room and knelt beside the girls, feeling for pulses. She looked up to find Sam and Dean both standing behind her, looking down with serious expressions.

“They’re dead.”

Dean nodded. “She said they were late with the payment. Guess he got tired of waiting.”

Chloe shook her head. “Or maybe when I bound his power out of them, he decided they were a lost cause. They couldn’t even run because of what I did.”

Dean exchanged a worried look with Sam, who spoke. “Chloe, this isn’t your fault. You saved us; it was their choice to get mixed up with the sorcerer.”

“I can fix this,” Chloe replied, urgently. She put her hands on Meghan’s arm. “Come on, come on, heal!”

“What? No!” Dean grabbed Chloe’s arm, dragging her back away from the bodies. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“I can save them, Dean!”

“They’re murderers, Chloe. You’re not dying to save one of them!”

“I’ll wake back up!” Chloe tried to pull away, but Dean had an iron grip on her arm.

“You sure about that? What if this is the time that you don’t?” Dean asked, his voice raised.

Sam cut in. “It’s too late, Chloe. They’ve been gone for a few minutes now. Dean’s right, they chose to make a deal with the sorcerer. This isn’t your fault. Even if you could save one, you’d die before you could save the other two.”

Chloe looked up into their faces, seeing Sam’s sympathy and Dean’s anger. She looked back at the three girls lying on the floor and knew the brothers were right. The adrenaline she had been riding for the last half hour drained out of her suddenly, leaving her feeling worn out. She felt Dean’s grip on her arm loosen, then he helped her stand.

“Come on, let’s clean up our tracks and get the hell out of Dodge,” he said, and Chloe nodded, turning away from the bodies


	12. Chapter 12

Chloe sat on the bed closest to the door and stared at the orange drapes that were being blown about by the air conditioner unit attached to the wall beneath the window. The proprietors of the Sunrise Motel had apparently taken the theme quite seriously, decorating the rooms in bright orange fabrics, pictures of the sun framed in clouds, and mirrors held in the center of sun-shaped frames. The bright, garish color added to the headache that Chloe hadn’t been able to shake since Gatlinburg almost two days ago.

After erasing all traces of their presence in the pie shop, they had hurried back to the cabin, packed up their belongings, and headed out of town, dropping the cabin keys off in the rental office’s night deposit box. Dean had driven the first six hours through the night while Sam slept, then just after dawn they switched places, and Sam had driven four more hours before stopping at a breakfast diner in Moberly, Missouri. Chloe had slept shallowly in the backseat, starting awake when the car would hit a pothole, or when the boys spoke to each other, deciding on their direction.

The late breakfast had been a quiet affair. The brothers had discussed their options, finally deciding to stay in Moberly for a few days to regroup and research the next hunt, and also, to keep an eye on news out of Gatlinburg, to be sure they hadn’t been connected with the deaths in the bakery. Chloe had spoken only to the waitress and then had picked at her scrambled eggs, leaning her head on her hand and staring out of the glass pane window beside her. She had been aware of both boys shooting concerned glances her way, but had ignored them, as well as Dean’s hand resting gently on her knee under the table.

The motel was only a few blocks from the diner and across the street from a hospital, which Chloe had stared at thoughtfully before walking inside the room and lying down on the closest bed, where she drifted into a deeper sleep than she had gotten in the car, but not before feeling Dean curl up around her protectively.

Today, Dean and Sam were out picking up supplies and newspapers, leaving Chloe behind to nurse her headache. However, not long after they left the room, she stood, picked up her key and headed outside, locking the door behind her. She strode across the parking lot, looked both ways before crossing the street, then wound her way through the cars parked in the lot of the hospital.

She ghosted through the hallways of St. Anne Hospital until she reached the oncology ward. Checking the nurses’ station to be certain they were occupied, she walked slowly down the hallway, darting her eyes in at each open door until she reached the end of the hallway where a bench was placed against the wall. She sat and waited for fifteen minutes, then walked back the way she came, stopping short when one of the previously closed doors opened just ahead and a couple exited the room, looking sad. Chloe walked a discreet distance behind them, eavesdropping on their conversation.

“She’s getting thin, Dora. If she doesn’t start eating again, we’re going to lose her soon,” the man said.

The woman patted his arm. “I know, honey. We just have to pray for a miracle and hope.”

Chloe let the distance between herself and the couple widen until she could turn back without attracting their notice. Casting a wary eye back at the nurses’ station, she entered the room the couple had left, closing the door gently behind her. Turning, she saw the occupant of the room, a much older woman, laying in bed with her eyes half open, breathing in hard rasps. Chloe walked up to the bed.

“Ma’am? My name is Chloe, and I’m a volunteer with St. Anne’s. Just wanted to see if you needed anything.” She lifted the woman’s hand in her own and held it firmly, concentrating. She saw the silver glow spread out from beneath her hand, felt the familiar warmth in her palm, then staggered as she felt a weight lodge itself in her chest, choking off her breath. Using her other hand to grip the handrail attached to the bed, she forced herself to stay upright, concentrated on staying conscious. Chloe let go of the older woman’s hand, watching as the woman’s eyes widened and her breathing became deep and steady.

“What…what…” the woman rolled her head, looking in wonder at Chloe, who forced a smile.

“It’s okay, ma’am, I’m a volunteer. You just woke up, are you feeling okay?”

“Y-yes, I think…I mean, I’m not sure. My memory’s kind of hazy…”

“I’ll let a nurse know you need her. If one doesn’t come in a few minutes, ring your buzzer, okay?” Without waiting for a response, Chloe pushed herself away from the bed and walked rapidly out of the room, then headed down the hallway to the nearest stairwell. She felt cold and nauseous, and made it down two flights before sitting down hard on the concrete step and leaning her head against the wall. She could feel the weight in her chest receding, the tumor or whatever the woman had suffered from being expunged from her body, but it hurt, and the loss of energy was making her feel weak. Passing out in the stairwell was not an option, so she placed her hands on the handrail and pulled herself up, then began her descent, careful to grip the rail tightly all the way down.

Chloe rested under the shade of a tree in the parking lot for a few minutes before crossing the street and making it safely back into her motel room where she collapsed on the bed, burying her head in a pillow. She had only been back about twenty minutes when she heard a key in the door and turned over to watch as Dean and Sam entered the room, each carrying a paper bag.

Dean smiled at seeing Chloe, but his expression changed quickly to worry. “You look pale, are you alright?”

“My headache is worse, that’s all. Did you pick up more aspirin?”

\------------------------------------------------

The next morning, the three of them walked to a different diner, this one two doors down from the motel. Chloe was feeling better, and ate with more of an appetite. She was able to listen to the brothers’ banter with a small smile on her face.

“That’s disgusting, Dean.”

“What? It’s good.”

“Why bother ordering oatmeal if you’re going to pour a gallon of maple syrup in it? Just get pancakes next time.”

“Dude, how do you think I got you to eat your oatmeal when you were four?”

Sam made a face. “Why do you think I always wanted Lucky Charms?”

The conversation dissolved into good-natured insults and kicks under the table before the brothers settled down and dug into their breakfasts. Chloe finished her eggs this time, then nibbled on a slice of toast and watched the other diner patrons as they came and went. Many of them were dressed in scrubs; doctors and nurses stopping in for a cup of coffee or a biscuit. Two nurses, both wearing scrubs decorated in colorful animal patterns sat on stools at the counter just opposite their shared table. Their conversation was just loud enough to overhear, and Chloe stiffened as she realized what was being said.

“Dr. Garrett says it’s a miracle; he’s never seen a tumor disappear like that. She’s completely healed; her lungs are as good as new.”

“And she just woke up that way?”

“Yesterday. I checked on her in the morning and she was the same as usual, only partially aware, labored breathing. A few hours later, and she’s ringing the nurse’s station, speaking in complete sentences and saying something about a volunteer taking care of her when she woke up.”

“A volunteer?”

“She said there was a woman in the room with her when she woke up, a hospital volunteer, but none of us saw her, and we don’t have any volunteers on staff right now.” Both nurses left cash on the counter and walked away, continuing their conversation out of earshot.

Chloe sat rigidly, staring out the window, her headache returning. She could feel both boys’ eyes on her; could feel the anger coming off of Dean in waves beside her. She felt him slide out of the booth, saw money thrown down on the table; then a moment later, saw him stalk across the parking lot heading in the direction of the motel. Sam was next, sliding out of his side of the booth, but he stayed standing beside the table until she sighed and turned away from the window. She held her head high, meeting his eyes, but knew she wasn’t hiding the guilt when his turned from censuring to sympathetic. They walked in silence to the motel, where Sam held the door open for her, watching as she squared her shoulders and walked through.


	13. Chapter 13

Chloe walked through the door to find Dean pacing furiously on the far side of the room. He looked up as Sam walked in behind her, shutting the door and leaning against it. Dean’s eyes narrowed on hers and his forward motion stopped.

“Have you lost your mind? Were you possessed? Sam, check her for possession!” His arm was outstretched, then swept in as if the air currents could push Sam towards her.

Chloe rolled her eyes at his dramatics. “Stop it, Dean.”

“This is about those witches, isn’t it? It was their own fault, not yours.”

“Really? You think they deserved to die?”

“I think they took a dumb-ass risk and paid the consequences for it.”

“If I’d found the spellbook and burned it first, they’d still be alive.”

“And given them the chance to throw some mojo at you? That would’ve been a pretty stupid rescue attempt. You’re smarter than that.”

“Then I should’ve been able to heal them!” Chloe retorted, her voice getting louder.

Dean matched her volume. “There were three of them, all dead! You can’t heal three dead people at once! And you can’t go looking for more!

“I have a healing ability, I should be using it to help people.”

“You can’t heal everybody who’s sick or injured in every hospital we pass. It’s too much, Chloe!”

Chloe folded her arms, refusing to budge. “I have to try. You and Sam use your skills to save people, I can do the same.”

Dean’s eyes widened and his mouth opened, but Sam jumped in before his brother started shouting. “Chloe, you have, you’ve helped us save countless people already.”

“I could do more; people shouldn’t have to die if I can stop it!”

Dean threw his arms out wide, angrily. “People are always going to die! Maybe sometimes we can put it off for a while, but the reaper’s gonna catch up with them eventually. And it’s gonna catch up with you, too, if you keep this up. Do you even know if that stuff in your heart lasts forever? Or maybe it’ll get used up, and one day, you won’t wake back up!”

Chloe looked down at the floor. “I didn’t pass out this time; I didn’t die.”

Suddenly, Dean was in front of her, a hand under her chin, tipping her head up so she had to look directly into his eyes. “You were weak all day yesterday. I’ll bet you came pretty close to passing out, didn’t you?” Chloe didn’t have to respond verbally; the guilt in her eyes gave her away. Dean continued in a slightly softer but still firm voice. “What if you had, and we didn’t know where you were? What if they had found you, put you in some institution before we could get to you? Who would you help if you were locked up? Promise me you won’t do this again.”

Chloe’s eyes glittered with unshed tears. “I can’t promise that.”

Dean’s eyes hardened. “Can’t or won’t?”

Chloe set her jaw stubbornly, refusing to answer. Dean dropped his hand and stared down at her angrily for another moment, then strode past her, his arm brushing past her shoulder, forcing her to turn with the motion. Sam moved quickly out of the way and Dean left the motel room, slamming the door behind him with enough force to shake the thin walls, causing a sun-shaped clock that had been hanging between the door and a window to fall to the floor, shattering the glass that covered the clock face.

Chloe stared at the broken glass for a few moments, breathing heavily, hugging her arms tightly around herself. Finally, she looked up at Sam, who was watching her carefully.

“Chloe…”

Chloe cut him off. “I’m going to get my own room. I’ll be back for my stuff in a minute.” She grabbed her purse off the table and left quickly, before Sam could come up with a reason to make her stay.

\--------------------------------------------------

The remainder of the day was quiet, especially in comparison to the morning fireworks. Sam stayed in the room, reading through newspapers, looking for possible jobs. Or at least trying to; his mind wandered more than once, and when he found himself re-reading the same paragraph for the third time and still wasn’t certain what it said, he threw down the paper in disgust and flipped on the television.

Chloe had come back to the room fifteen minutes after she left, eyes red-rimmed and holding the key to a room two doors down. She had gathered her bags and laptop case, quickly stuffing clothes and toiletries wherever they would fit. She left just as quickly, saying only two words when Sam tried to talk to her. Don’t, Sam.

Hours later, Dean let himself back into the room, this time shutting the door quietly. He looked weary, and Sam could see that his anger had reduced to a simmer instead of a boil. “You alright?”

Dean nodded. “Just peachy. It’s been the best day ever.” He sat down on the bed, placing his hands on his knees, and took a deep breath. Suddenly, he jumped back up and his gaze swept the room. “Wait a minute, where’s Chloe? Where’s her stuff?”

“She got her own room. Number seventeen, a couple doors down.”

“Damn it!” Dean strode towards the door.

“Dean, wait!” Sam barked, dropping the remote control on the bed and standing up. “I don’t think you should go over there right now. She was pretty upset.”

“She’s upset? I’m upset! She’s going to get herself in trouble, Sam; she can’t run off like she did yesterday and lay hands on every sick person she finds. She can’t save everybody.”

“No, she can’t. But do you think issuing an ultimatum is going to make her stop, or will it put her on the next bus to Kansas?”

Dean huffed out a breath and sat back down on the bed. “I don’t want to see her die again, Sammy.”

“I know.”

“I get that she feels bad about those witches. But it’s part of the job; bad stuff is gonna happen, you’ve just gotta let it go sometimes.”

“I know,” Sam repeated. “We’ve been doing this for years, Dean. Chloe’s still learning.”

Dean nodded, but didn’t answer. Sam watched him for a few seconds before grabbing his wallet and keys off the nightstand. “Come on. Let’s grab an early dinner; I’ll bring something back for Chloe if she wants it. Let me buy you a beer.”

Dean looked up at his brother and smiled. “A beer would be awesome.”

\--------------------------------------------

Sam knocked on Chloe’s door, waited a moment, then knocked again. “Chloe, it’s Sam.”

The door opened and Chloe stood there, looking tired but composed. “What’s up, Sam?”

“Dean and I went out for a bite. I thought you might be hungry.” He held out a white Styrofoam box towards her as if waving a white flag, a hopeful look on his face.

Chloe gave a small smile and accepted. “Thanks.”

Sam smiled back. “You’re welcome. You know, if you want to talk…”

Chloe shook her head. “Tonight I want to wash my clothes and watch bad movies and sleep. Tomorrow…” she sighed. “We’ll talk tomorrow, okay?”

“Sure. Get some rest.”

“I will.” She closed the door and Sam walked away, satisfied with the outcome of his peace offering.

\------------------------------------------------

Later that evening, Chloe made her second trip to the small motel laundromat. It was a small room with a glass door, a change machine, four washing machines lined along one wall, and four dryers lined up opposite. She had started her clothes in the washing machine before going back to her room to eat the dinner Sam had brought her, a chicken sandwich and fries, with packets of mayonnaise and ketchup carefully tucked inside the box. A soda from the vending machine outside the laundry room completed her meal, and she tried to concentrate on the television, not really having much success.

Chloe knew that Dean was right, she had put herself in a position to be discovered, to have her meteor freak status exposed. She had just felt so useless after watching the three witches die. What was the point in having this ability if she couldn’t help someone when they needed it? The hospital had seemed like a way to relieve her guilt, to sort of “make up” to the witches, although she supposed they were a little past being able to care. At the same time, she was angry with them for getting themselves into the situation, for getting her involved, causing her to feel this way. Which, of course, only stirred up more guilt for being angry at women who had paid such a terrible price for their mistakes. It was this circular thinking that fed the constant ache in Chloe’s head.

Clark was willing to throw himself in the way of kryptonite in order to save someone. Oliver, like Dean and Sam, had no superhuman strength, and took risks constantly. Chloe felt that if they took risks to help people, she should as well. Not using her ability seemed selfish, like she was hoarding it for a rainy day. Dean had a point though; she wouldn’t be able to help anyone if she were a permanent resident in Belle Rive.

She pushed open the door and walked to the first washing machine, opening it to retrieve her clothes. Another guest was standing over the farthest machine, jiggling the coin drop. He looked up when she entered and nodded a greeting before turning back to fight with the quarter slide, trying to shove it in and start the washer. Chloe pulled all of her clothes out in an armful and turned around to face the dryers, once again choosing the one closest to the door. She closed the dryer door, fit four quarters into the slots, and slid them smoothly into the drop, starting the machine.

“Damn it!”

Chloe glanced back towards the man who had uttered the expletive. He seemed to have successfully fed the coins and was now turning and pushing the knobs spread across the top of the machine, to no avail. He looked up at her and smiled apologetically.

“Sorry about that.”

Chloe returned the smile. “Don’t worry about it. Looks like that one’s giving you a hard time.”

“Yeah, I’m not real good with the domestic stuff. This probably seems stupid, but could you possibly…?” He cut off, gesturing towards the washer, looking a little embarrassed.

“Sure,” Chloe replied. I wanted to help people, she thought, grinning a little. She walked up to stand in front of the washer as the man stepped back, making room. She pushed the timer knob in, turned it to the appropriate settings and hit the start button. The washer immediately started filling with water. “There you go.”

“You have the magic touch,” the man replied, almost directly in her ear, startling Chloe. She jumped slightly and would have sidestepped away when an arm wrapped around her torso and right arm, and a cloth was thrust against her nose and mouth. Instinctively, her left hand reached up and clamped on his, trying to pull the cloth away, but he was too strong. She struggled to hold her breath, and slammed her foot down on his, but her sneaker had little impact on his boot. It did get his attention, however, and he pushed her up against the machine, holding her tightly.

Gun, she thought, and forced her left hand down from his arm, trying to slide it behind her and into her waistband to retrieve the Beretta, but at the same time, her lungs were straining, and she finally had to breathe, knowing she was almost out of time when the sickening smell filled her nostrils and rushed into her lungs. Her palm slid against the cool metal of the gun, but she couldn’t grasp it, and as her vision began blacking out, she felt her upper body fall forward against the washer as his arm released her, and the last thing she felt was his hand sliding her gun against her skin, up and out of her waistband.


	14. Chapter 14

Dean woke the next morning to sunshine streaming across his face. He turned his head to check the time on the clock between the two beds, his eyes passing over the empty spot beside him, reminding him that Chloe was elsewhere. He rolled out of bed, yawning, then crossed to the bathroom, passing Sam’s bed as he did so, and resisting the urge to smack the large foot that was hanging off the side. Entering the bathroom, he flicked the lightswitch, wincing at the bright orange vinyl shower curtain that reflected the light back on the walls, as if someone had poured neon orange juice across the entire room. Dean shook his head; he was definitely ordering coffee with breakfast.

Being first to shower usually meant deliberately taking his time so that afterward, he could enjoy listening to Sam shout through the door when the hot water ran out. Now, however, his mind was on Chloe. Sam said she had calmed down, and was willing to talk today. Dean hoped that meant she was willing to talk to him today, and not just to Sam.

He hurried through his shower, then wrapped a towel around his waist and brushed his teeth. When he opened the door to find his clothes, Sam was sitting on the edge of his bed, rubbing his face.

“Good morning, Sunshine,” Dean said, using a singsong tone.

“Nngh,” was all the reply Sam made as he pushed past Dean into the bathroom, closing the door behind him. Dean grinned, figuring that was shorthand for both “good morning” and “shut up.”

He pulled his last clean pair of jeans out of his duffel, grimacing. Sam said Chloe was doing laundry last night, which usually meant she grabbed their clothes, too, while making choice comments on their questionable hygiene. If they missed laundry day, that meant either he or Sam would have to get their washing done, or else wear dirty clothes until Chloe’s next laundry day, if she were speaking to them by then.

Sam had been right about Chloe; she was still new at hunting and had yet to see even a quarter of the horrors that he and Sam had been exposed to. Of course, she’d be quick to retort that her life growing up in Kansas had included plenty of weird events and close calls, but seeing three witches, three humans die had definitely shook her. Dean berated himself for basically telling her to just get over it and expecting that she would. He should have made her talk about it, should have realized what solution she would come up with if left to deal with it on her own. Putting herself in danger to save others was a default gear for Chloe – she’d done it for them often enough. Thinking about what she had done in the hospital, what could have happened if she had been discovered nearly took his breath away. He’d failed to suss out her intentions, and so had failed to protect her. He couldn’t let that happen again.

Protecting her, however, would be a lot easier if she would see him. He finished dressing, stuffed his feet into his boots, then grabbed his cell phone and room key and left the room. He walked to the door with the number seventeen painted on it, took a deep breath, then rapped his knuckles against it. He waited a few minutes, then rapped again. “Chloe, it’s me.”

Dean strained to listen for any movement inside the room, but could hear nothing. This time he knocked harder. “Chloe, open up.” He thought for a second, then rolled his eyes. “Please?”

He lifted his hand, intending to bang loudly, but was brought up short when the door to number twenty opened and an older couple stepped out, rolling suitcases behind them and looking at him curiously. He dropped his hand and gave them a weak smile. “Uh, good morning,” he said nodding his head.

They nodded back and loaded their suitcases in a small car, then drove away. Dean pulled out his cell phone and dialed Chloe’s cell number. It went straight to voicemail. He walked quickly back to his room, where Sam was standing next to his bed, hair wet but combed, buttoning up his shirt.

“Where’s the lockpick?” Dean asked.

Sam frowned. “It’s in my jacket. What’s wrong?”

Dean grabbed the jacket from where it had been slung over a chair, searching the pockets until he found what he was looking for. “Chloe’s not answering her door or her phone. Get your shoes on; I need you to cover me.”

Sam grabbed his sneakers, slipping them on quickly. “Maybe she just went to breakfast.”

“Maybe, but I want to be sure. Come on.”

They walked back down to Chloe’s room where Dean bent a little and slid the tools into the lock. Sam backed up next to him, covering his brother’s actions and watching for anyone coming near. Dean got the door open in record time, and both boys slipped in.

They looked around, noting that Chloe’s bed was neatly made with her clothes bag sitting open on top. Her laptop was open and running on the table, although the screensaver had long ago faded to black.

Sam walked over to the bed. “Maid service doesn’t come this early. Either Chloe made her bed this morning…”

“Or she didn’t sleep in it.” Dean finished the sentence for him. He hit a button on the computer and the screen lit up, asking for a password. Dean tapped in the necessary letters and the desktop screen appeared. There were no documents pulled up, no web pages to use as a clue.

“Dean, her bag is half empty,” Sam said, his hands holding Chloe’s bag open. “Maybe she waited on the laundry until today.”

Dean nodded and led the way out of the motel room. They walked together to the small laundry room, pushing the door open to find an empty room, and none of the machines running. Dean walked over to the dryers, seeing clothes through the glass door of the first one. He opened it and pulled out a green shirt, holding it up for Sam to see.

“It’s Chloe’s.” He put his hand back inside to feel the other clothes. “They’re cold; they’ve been sitting here for a while.” He met Sam’s eyes, and they shared a worried look.

“Do you think she would’ve gone back to the hospital?” Sam asked.

Dean shook his head. “I don’t know. She didn’t promise not to. You saw her last, did she look like she was up to healing again?”

“I don’t think so, she was tired. If she was planning to go back to the hospital, she hid it well.”

Dean’s temper boiled over and he kicked the dryer. “Damn it! Why can’t I keep track of her?”

“Hey, Dean, come on, man. She might just have gone for breakfast, or to the store. Come on, we’ll check around, ask at the diner, then go look around the hospital. We’ll find her.” Sam gripped his brother’s arm solidly, and Dean nodded.

“Yeah, yeah, okay. Help me with these clothes.”

They gathered Chloe’s clothing out of the dryer and carried it back to their room, tossing it on the bed before setting out across the parking lot. Sam stopped in the motel office to ask if Chloe had been seen, but came back out shaking his head. They were almost to the diner when Dean’s phone rang. He stopped short, yanking his cell out of his pocket and looked at the display, then flipped it open.

“Chloe, where the hell are you?”

“Hey, Dean.”

Dean stiffened, his eyes shooting to his brother’s, who frowned.

“Gordon. Didn’t think your parole board would be meeting quite this soon.” His voice only barely shook with the effort of keeping his anger and fear in check. Beside him, Sam clenched his fists, eyes watching him darkly.

“Yeah, I decided not to wait on them. Say Dean, you wouldn’t happen to be missing something would you?”

Dean closed his eyes, running a hand over his face, and exhaled. “Where is she, Gordon?” he asked, flatly.

“Don’t worry. She’s right here next to me, and doing just fine.”

“You sorry bastard, if you hurt her…”

“Relax, Dean. I want to talk trade.”

“Trade?”

“Brother Sammy for the blonde. Straight up swap.”

“Go to hell, Gordon.”

“Wrong answer, Dean.”

Dean heard a rustling sound, then his stomach turned over with a sickening flop when he heard Chloe squeal in pain somewhere near the phone. “Leave her alone, you son of a bitch!”

Gordon’s voice came across the line again. “I’ll give you some time to think it over.” The line went dead.

“Damn it, he’s got Chloe!” Dean hit redial on the phone, trying to reconnect to Chloe’s line, but it just rang to voicemail. “Fuck!”

“Dean, what did he say?”

Dean looked up at Sam, grimly. “He wants a trade.”

Sam nodded. “Me for her, right? We gotta do it.”

“I am not handing you over to that bastard!” Dean yelled. “We need to find them, fast.”

“How, Dean? We don’t have anything to track him with.”

Dean stood looking at Sam for a moment, thinking. He flipped his cell phone open again and dialed a number.

“Ellen, it’s Dean. We need your help.”


	15. Chapter 15

Chloe glared up at Gordon, who was still grasping a thick handful of her hair after jerking her head back, forcing a cry of pain from her throat. She was sitting in a chair, her wrists bound tightly together in front of her. They were in a large warehouse-type structure, built with thin aluminum walls wrapped around wood posts. On one side was a closed garage door. The other side, where she sat now, held a few scattered chairs, a desk, and a large number of trunks and chests, most of them padlocked. The two sides were separated by a large, parked RV. The walls were decorated in religious pictures, most notably a large, velvet rendering of The Last Supper. A wooden door to the outside was within her line of sight, as were two closed doors that led to other rooms. Gordon had shoved her into one of those rooms last night just after she had awakened from the chloroform; a stark bathroom with a tiny, boarded-up window.

Chloe had attempted to escape through the window, but her wrists had already been roped together, and the boards were securely in place. There had been no answer to her repeated shouting and banging on the door, so she had finally fallen asleep on the floor, waking this morning to the sound of Gordon warning her she had five minutes to do her business and get away from the door before he came in for her with a loaded gun. Chloe had been in no position to do anything but comply, awkwardly washing her hands and face in the cold water from the sink and using her shirt to dry them, then backing as far away from the door as she could get. True to his word, the door slammed open, reverberating off the wall as Gordon stood in the doorway holding a black revolver pointed directly at her chest. He had walked her out of the bathroom and sat her in the chair, tying each of her ankles to a chair leg, and proceeded to introduce himself. Remembering what the boys had told her about their run-ins with Gordon Walker in the past, she had become even more scared of her predicament.

He looked calmly at her now as he finished his conversation with Dean, then snapped the phone shut and turned it off altogether, finally letting go of her hair.

“We’ll just give him the rest of the day to get a little frantic about you, then call back; see if we can’t get a more positive response.”

“You don’t know Dean very well if you think he’d ever just hand Sam over to you,” Chloe replied.

Gordon chuckled. “You’re right, he wouldn’t. Oh, you’re pretty enough,” and he paused as his eyes raked coldly over her, “but Dean’s biggest mission in life is to protect his brother. I know it; anyone who’s ever met them knows it. Must suck to know your boyfriend cares more about his brother than he does about you.”

Chloe ignored the barb. Gordon could never understand her relationship with Dean and Sam; there was no point refuting his words. “Then why offer a trade you know he won’t take?”

Gordon knelt down beside her, grinning. His eyes were dark and malevolent, and she strained back against the chair, not liking him in her personal space. “Dean might not take the trade, but his bleeding heart brother will. See, I know Sammy, too, and he’ll be beating himself up all day, knowing that whatever I’m doing to you is his fault; he’ll insist on offering himself up for you. By tomorrow night, Sam Winchester will be dead, and the world will be a safer place.

Chloe shook her head, disgusted. “Sam’s a good person, he’s a hunter. He saves people. How can you want to kill him?”

Gordon looked at her, almost pityingly. “He’s not human. He’s changed to something else, something demonic. He has abilities no pure human would have. And speaking of abilities…” He reached around to his waistband and drew a knife out slowly. Chloe’s eyes widened fearfully as the sound of metal sliding against its sheath sent a shudder down her back. “Why don’t we switch subjects and talk about you, huh? You and your abilities?”

Chloe dragged her eyes from the knife to Gordon’s face. Her heart, her kryptonite-laced heart, was beating loudly enough that she was certain he could hear it, kneeling as close as he was to her. She wet her lips and made herself look at him calmly. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Gordon gave a little half-smile, nodding his head just slightly. “Nice cover, but there’s no need to lie. I know all about you and your near-death, or should I say ‘actual-death’ experiences. You were killed in a federal safe house explosion and buried in the local cemetery. A couple years later, you were a registered corpse in the Smallville Medical Center, and yet here you are; walking, talking, breathing. And healing. You healed an old woman of cancer at St. Anne Hospital two days ago.”

Chloe’s eyebrows shot up, and Gordon laughed. “I know all about your little outing, your magic touch. I’ve been following the Winchesters’ trail for a while now, and got to town just in time to hear all the commotion. Your little lovers’ quarrel was remarkably well-timed; easy as pie to get to you once you were separated from Dean. I’ll bet he’s kicking himself right now.”

Chloe swallowed, trying to decide how best to reason with Gordon, and went for the truth. “You’re right; I can heal people when they’re hurt, or sick. It means I can help people.”

“It means you’re not pure human, either.”

Chloe stared at Gordon, and she suddenly got it. He wasn’t just planning to kill Sam, he fully intended to kill her, too. The trade was just a ruse. She was bait, soon-to-be-dead bait, nothing more.

Gordon nodded slowly. “What’s dead should stay dead. I’d say it’s not personal, but I’ve had enough run-ins with the Winchesters that this isn’t just a job anymore.” He leaned in toward her face and spoke succinctly. “It’s going to be a treat.”

Chloe’s breath stuttered out. “Look, I know you’re pissed at Dean and Sam, but…”

He cut her off. “I gotta say, I’m pretty disappointed in Dean. First he protects his own demonic brother, now he’s shacking up with you? John Winchester would be awfully disappointed in his boy. Sure, you healed an old lady’s cancer, but what else have you done? Let’s see…oh, that’s right. You brought demonic Sammy back to life, then resurrected yourself.” He smiled at her look of shock. “Thought that was a well-kept secret, didn’t you? Well, you’d be surprised at the number of evil creatures out there that keep tabs on the comings and goings of Sam Winchester. Just another reason he needs to be put down.

“So tell me about your abilities,” he continued conversationally, and suddenly the knife flashed out, its edge sliding quickly across her forearm, making her gasp in surprise at the sudden pain. “Can you heal yourself?”

\---------------------------------------

“What’d you find, Ellen?”

“Gordon doesn’t get real cozy with other hunters too often, but when he did buddy up on a hunt, it was with a guy named Kubrick. Kubrick was killed by vampires a few months ago, but he had some property in Lock Springs. Gordon may have taken it over, holed up there.”

“Thanks.” Dean clicked his phone shut and looked at Sam. “Lock Springs. Couple hours west of here.”

“That’s a long way to go, Dean. What if we’re heading in the wrong direction?”

“Then we’ll have to wait on Gordon to call back. At least if we’re right, we stand a chance at getting the jump on him.”

Sam nodded and followed Dean to the Impala.


	16. Chapter 16

Chloe was breathing heavily, with what felt like lines of fire running down her arms and one cheek, and her shirt was covered in a smattering of blood stains. Gordon had not believed her when she had denied being able to heal herself after the first cut; or maybe he had believed her and was simply enjoying the torture too much to stop. Chloe was past knowing or caring. He certainly enjoyed taunting her with how he intended to kill both Sam and Dean; Sam because of his less than human state, and Dean because he would try to protect Sam and Chloe to the death.

Regardless of whether he cut her fast or slow, he was always careful; deep enough to hurt and bleed, but not enough to kill her from blood loss. He had even cut his own arm and forced her to place her hands on it to see her use her ability. That had been a new experience – she had felt his injury, felt her power start to open up to it, but using a strength she didn’t know she possessed, had clamped down on the feeling, forcing her power back, not letting it spill out of her. She had never tried to stop it before, and the effort it took to keep her power in check was tiring. Gordon had watched her face carefully the first time; she had been unable to hide the struggle it took to stop it, and then had forced her to do it again and again. She was feeling dizzy and weak, and Gordon was in the process of threatening to find an innocent to force her to heal when he suddenly stopped talking, jerking his head around to stare towards the far side of the warehouse. He shoved her chair around the floor, causing her head to swing and her vision to blur for a moment, before she could see that she was now directly facing the long side of the RV, with Gordon crouched behind her, his arm across her left shoulder, and the cold metal of the knife pressed against her throat.

“That you, Dean?” Gordon’s voice rang out. “I’ll give you credit, you found me faster than I expected.” His hot breath brushed uncomfortably against the back of Chloe’s neck, but she didn’t dare move forward; she could already feel the blade at her throat scratching her skin.

“Come on out,” Gordon continued when there was no response, “or I slit her throat right now.”

Chloe’s eyes went wide, and she held her breath, waiting for the slide of the knife when movement to the left caught her eye, and Dean emerged slowly from one side of the RV, his gun pointed in her direction, but a little high, not directly targeting her. His eyes were on her, though, and Chloe knew she had never seen him so angry. She was suddenly aware of the blood trickling down her arms and face, and knew she must look terrible, her body held rigidly, and staring up at him with panic in her eyes. She tried to calm down, to make herself look less terrified, but Gordon spoke again, loudly against her ear, and she could barely keep from flinching.

“Drop the gun, and kick it away.”

Chloe saw a muscle in Dean’s jaw twitch as he stood there, deliberating on Gordon’s order for only a couple seconds when Chloe felt the blade bite harder into her skin and she gave an inarticulate whimper, her eyes snapping shut.

“Alright, alright!” Chloe heard a clattering sound, and reopened her eyes to see Dean kick the gun he had thrown down about three quarters of the way towards her.

“Good choice,” Gordon said condescendingly. “You too, Sammy, I know you’re back there. I’m tired of games, and she’s run out of second chances.”

Sam stepped forward around the other side of the RV, hands already held in the air. He tossed his gun to the ground, kicking it forward just as Dean had done. “Let her go, Gordon. You’ve got me, just let her go.”

“Sammy, Sammy. That self-sacrificing nature of yours is going to be the death of you. At least, that’s what I’ve been counting on.”

Gordon lifted his right hand from where it had been hidden behind Chloe, his gun pointing directly at Sam’s chest, but Chloe had heard the rustling behind her, and the gun being cocked while Gordon spoke. Her ankles were still tied to the chair legs, but her feet were firmly planted against the floor, and she braced them now, shoving up and back just as the gun fired, and toppling the chair backwards against Gordon, her unexpected weight easily pushing him out of his crouch and sending him sprawling on his back as she heard Sam cry out.

She was suddenly staring up at the ceiling, trying to get her bearings as her ears still rang with the gunshot, when she felt Gordon shove her off of him, scrambling to his feet just in time to be knocked off of them again as Dean lowered his shoulder and slammed into him, and then both men were rolling across the floor.

Chloe was lying on her side, her wrists still tied together, the chair only attached to her by the ankles. She reached both hands down and worked at the ropes, freeing one leg by untying the knot and the other by simply putting pressure on the chair leg, where it had been partially broken in the fall. She rolled to her knees, ignoring for a moment the fighting behind her in favor of glancing at Sam, who had one arm wrapped around his side and was trying to stand. Her gaze traveled to Dean’s silver 9mm, lying on the floor just off to the side, and she lunged for it.

\-----------------------------------------------

Dean was sick of this guy; sick of his hard-on for Sam’s life, sick of the twisted obsession that kept him coming back for more. This was the third time he’d gotten into a knock-down drag-out with him. The first round had gone to Dean, the second to Gordon. Now he was going for best two out of three, knowing that all of their lives rested on the outcome. Gordon knew this time he’d never be free of Dean’s vengeance if he killed Sam, so there was no way he would leave him alive. And Dean was regretting not finishing the job himself, before.

He threw punches in quick succession, hitting, missing, hitting again, then Gordon slammed into his midsection, sending them both tumbling, grappling with each other. Dean controlled his rolling body, throwing Gordon off him, then rising to his feet, only to have to duck down to avoid a flying knife that Gordon had pulled from, God, somewhere, and then he was being slammed against the wall, his fingers instinctively circling the wrist attached to the hand that was around his throat, while a second knife was being shoved under his chin.

“Sorry, Dean, but you’re too far gone to see the truth about Sam, or the girl. At least this way, you won’t have to watch me kill them.”

At those words, Dean redoubled his efforts, kicking one leg out against one of Gordon’s knees, which resulted in a satisfying crunching sound. Gordon shouted in pain as he lost his balance, falling heavily on his side, still gripping the knife. He rolled over quickly, pulling himself to a crouch, his bad leg stuck out to one side. That didn’t stop him from gathering himself in an attempt to spring towards Dean again when a gunshot rang out, and he fell back to the ground, blood immediately seeping from the belly wound through the side of his shirt to pool on the concrete beneath. His eyes flashed up to find the person who shot him. “Shoulda killed you first,” he spat, panting.

Dean looked up to see Chloe standing stock-still, both hands gripping his gun, which was still pointed unwaveringly at Gordon. Red lines of dried blood mapped her arms, cheek, and throat, and he watched as something dark passed over her face, and then she was frowning harder, and her hand convulsed on the gun…

“Don’t,” he said, firmly, and her eyes flew to his.

“He was gonna kill Sam,” she said, her voice hoarse, her eyes drawn back down to Gordon, who stared up at her hatefully.

“I know,” Dean replied, stepping out of Gordon’s reach and walking towards Chloe, careful to stay out of her line of fire. He glanced behind Chloe towards Sam, who was gripping his side where Gordon’s bullet had gone wide and grazed him, but his eyes were alert and on Dean’s, and he was walking towards Chloe quietly, his own gun in his hand.

“He wants to kill you, too,” Chloe said, bringing his eyes back to her.

“Not gonna happen,” Dean said, confidently. He stepped up beside her, cupping his hands around hers over the gun. “Chloe, let go of the gun. I’ve got it now, just let go.” He felt her finger begin to relax on the trigger, then her hands released it into his.

Sam came to stand beside them, his own gun pointed at Gordon. “Take her outside, get her comfortable in the car,” he told Dean.

Dean gave Sam a long look, and Sam returned a short one of his own before settling his eyes back on Gordon, who was groaning in pain, blood beginning to trickle out of his mouth. It appeared to Dean that he wouldn’t last much longer. Catching Sam’s eye one more time, Dean nodded and put his gun away, then swept Chloe up in his arms, carrying her outside and down the dirt path to where they had left the car. They had just gotten to the Impala when three gunshots in quick succession were fired from the warehouse. Chloe jumped in his arms at the sound.

“Sam!” she shouted, struggling to get free.

“Stop, Chloe. Sam’s fine, I promise. He’s just finishing up our business with Gordon.”


	17. Chapter 17

Chloe blinked her eyes drowsily, awareness coming back to her slowly. The gray light peeking out from the sides of the curtains told her that it was early morning. She felt warm and content, her body weighted down comfortably. After another moment of waking more fully, she could tell why; Dean was spooned around her, with an arm curled across her stomach and his breath warming the base of her neck at regular intervals.

They were in her motel room, the one she had paid for after her fight with Dean. She had only paid for one night, though, so Dean must have paid for another when they returned yesterday from…being away. She couldn’t remember him leaving her side, though; maybe he had sent Sam to do it. Or Sam could have just done it himself, he was thoughtful that way. He had been hurt yesterday, saving her, she remembered. Shot by…well, shot in the side, grazed. She had been laying in the backseat of the Impala on the way back to the motel, feeling cold and numb, when she remembered his injury and sat up enough to reach across the seat and lay a hand on his shoulder. He had looked back at her immediately, thinking she needed help but had become transfixed, his eyes widening as he watched her hand glow, felt the skin across his side knit back together. It was over in a few seconds, just in time for her whole body to lurch to one side as Dean drove the car off the road when he glanced over and saw the flicker of light emanating from her hand. He adjusted quickly, bringing the Impala back on to the asphalt, then both boys had scolded her lightly for healing Sam when she was still hurt and tired. Chloe had simply closed her eyes and lay back down, sinking back into the numbness.

Dean had laid her on the bed and cleaned up her cuts. Gauze and medical tape currently decorated her arms and her left cheek; she imagined it would hurt to smile for awhile, if she had something to smile about. He’d taken a washcloth to her skin as well, but it was going to take a full shower with soap to remove the blood-red tint. Chloe could remember that he’d talked to her throughout, but she’d been too far gone to respond much. She shifted slightly on the bed, realizing that the majority of her clothes were gone; Dean must have undressed her after she fell asleep.

Having exhausted her memories of returning to the motel, Chloe cast about for something else to focus on, something to keep her mind off of what she’d done. However, she couldn’t stop her thoughts from returning to the memory of seeing Gordon holding a knife to Dean’s throat as she was running towards them, then Dean kicking out at Gordon’s knee, causing him to fall away. She had stopped a short distance away, unnoticed, as Gordon rolled and prepared to throw himself back at Dean, still gripping the knife. In that moment, Chloe could almost tell the future, could see that Gordon still had plenty of strength and adrenaline on his side despite his wounded knee, that Dean wouldn’t be able to shield himself fully from the knife at that angle, that the man who had spent the morning torturing her was about to deliver the worst possible blow; her right hand had tightened on Dean’s gun, bringing it up to share the grip with her left, and without considering anything other than the need to protect Dean, she had squeezed the trigger.

“It’s okay, Chloe.”

Chloe jumped, startled, then felt Dean’s arms tighten around her. “I killed him.”

“Actually, Sam killed him.”

Chloe turned in Dean’s arms, facing him. His face was still sleep-smooth, eyes a clear, light green. “He’d have died eventually, if Sam hadn’t…”

“We all die eventually, Chloe.”

“You know what I mean. He would have died because I shot him.”

“I know. I’m sorry you had to do that.”

“That’s the problem…I’m not sorry. And that’s what I’m sorry about.”

A pained expression crossed Dean’s face. “Run that by me again?”

Chloe sighed. “I’m not sorry I shot him,” she said quietly. “I’m not sorry that he’s gone. He was hateful, Dean, and his entire existence was wrapped around killing Sam, and anyone who could stop him. I hate him for what he tried to do to you and Sam, and I hate him because I’m glad he’s dead, but I shouldn’t be, because I killed him.” She closed her eyes, turning her head into the pillow.

Dean regarded her for a long moment, then placed a hand under her chin, gently lifting her head, and stared intently into her eyes. “Did I ever tell you about when a demon had thrown me into a car and was whaling on Sam? He was this close to killing Sam, and it was either let Sam die, or kill the demon and the guy it was possessing together. There was no time for anything else. I couldn’t let Sam die. I don’t regret it.” He moved his hand from her chin to stroke her hair, his eyes softening. “You can hate him Chloe. I do; I hate him for trying to hurt Sam and for hurting you. But you can’t let it eat you up inside, he’s not worth it.”

Chloe nodded, closing her eyes again and enjoying the feel of his fingers carding through her hair.

“Don’t run off alone and heal someone over this.”

Chloe’s eyes snapped open at his unexpected words and saw that he was staring at her, frowning.

“You don’t have anything to make up for. But if you feel the need to work your healing mojo, I’ll go with you. You need someone to watch your back – and that’s my job.”

She smiled, and felt it tug against the cut on her cheek. “I think you have your hands full watching Sam’s back.”

“If I have to hogtie him while I chase after you, I’ll do it.” Suddenly, his face broke into a grin. “Don’t make me Lojack you.”

Chloe laughed in response, but the laughter released something in her chest, and suddenly she was crying instead, her eyes filling with tears. She felt stupid for crying now after everything was over and opened her mouth to apologize, but all that came out was “it hurt”, and then she was repeating it over and over, “it hurt; it really hurt”.

Dean gathered her close, holding her as tight as he could. “I know, Chloe, I’m sorry; it’s all over, I’ve got you.”

After a couple minutes, she was finally able to bring herself under control; the sobbing turned into sniffles, then deeper breaths, until she was ready to speak again.

“Dean, I need a break.”

She felt his arms tighten around her and knew what he was thinking. “Just from hunting. I want to go to Bobby’s. Can you take me to Bobby’s, please?”

Chloe felt him relax and begin stroking her hair again, felt the rumble from his chest against her cheek as he answered in the affirmative, then closed her eyes and let the tiredness overtake her once again.


	18. Chapter 18

November in Metropolis was cold and dismal, or at least had been since Chloe arrived two days ago. The sidewalk that she was carefully navigating was covered in the slushy remains of the sleet that had fallen that morning, not even a proper snow, and the sky overhead remained gray and cloudy. It was a far cry from the weather she had left behind in South Dakota which, while colder, had been sunny and windy. At least she had been able to find her winter clothes, she thought, pulling the sash on her trench tighter. Almost immediately after arriving at the Watchtower she had pulled out the boxes still closed up tightly since her move from the Talon, exchanging the jacket Bobby had let her borrow for a wool sweater.

Dean had taken her early morning request to go to Bobby’s seriously, and the Impala was pulling through the gate to the salvage yard at seven o’clock that same evening. Bobby had greeted the boys with handshakes, his sharp eyes lingering over the cut decorating Chloe’s face. A pot of stew was waiting on the back burner of the stove; what kind of stew she was unsure, but all that mattered was that it tasted good and there was a bed to fall into directly after. Dean and Sam seemed content to stay at first, taking the time to replenish the ammo and winterize the car, but two days after their arrival reports of kids going missing in a suspected haunted house near Canton, Ohio had Dean itching to be on the road again. Chloe had declined going; while she was feeling better, she wasn’t quite ready to get back in the saddle. This led to a sleepless night for Dean, who was unwilling to leave her behind, which in turn led to a sleepless night for Chloe, what with all the tossing and turning going on beside her. She had finally given a deep sigh, sitting up in the bed and poking Dean in the shoulder, rather painfully if his responding grunt was any indication.

“What exactly do you think is going to happen to me here? I already promised not to heal anyone without you. Do you think I’m going to run off to the closest hospital the second you leave?”

Dean had rolled over, frowning at her. “No. I just don’t like the idea of you being alone. It’s been a rough couple of weeks.”

Chloe raised an eyebrow. “Bobby’s here if I need anything, although I can’t imagine what that would be.”

“Bobby could get called away to a hunt at any time.”

“You know, Dean, I was taking care of myself long before we met. I think I can manage a few days alone.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“So then, what’s the problem? Is it just that you’re gonna miss me? Because that would be so sweet of you.” Chloe smiled, her tone lightly teasing, but her eyes widened when even in the dim light, she could see the color rise on his face. “Wow, is that really it? Are you becoming Mr. Sensitive?” She grinned when he rolled his eyes, then rolled all the way over, putting his back to her again.

“Whatever,” he muttered.

She had smiled, running a hand down the smooth skin of his back, curling close enough around him for her lips to reach the side of his throat, then spent the next hour wearing him out so he would settle down into sleep, so she could do the same.

The next day, Chloe had waved to the brothers from the porch as they drove away, after promising to call every day in an attempt to quell the concern she could still see etched in Dean’s face. The rest of the week went by quietly, Chloe splitting her time between typing articles and cleaning various parts of the house, ignoring a bemused Bobby who insisted it wasn’t necessary. She had informed him that she intended to earn her keep, and after a short time noticed that he would tend to gravitate to whatever corner of the house she was working on, and they would spend hours talking about a variety of subjects, including hunts that he’d been a part of and scrapes she’d had to get out of. She told him about the death of the witches and her trials with Gordon, a little hesitantly at first but the honest compassion in Bobby’s eyes soon had her spilling every detail. She was a little worried what his response would be, but his muttered “shame I can’t bring him back so I can kill him again” response coupled with the gentle hand he squeezed her shoulder with when he left the room went a long way towards helping her put the ordeal behind her.

Then Oliver called.

“Dean’s not gonna like this,” Bobby had warned as he stood in her doorway, watching her pack her bags.

Chloe winced slightly. While wrapping up in Ohio, the Winchester brothers had gotten wind of two werewolf sightings in nearby Pennsylvania, so had headed there to check it out before returning to Bobby’s. She’d already left Dean a voicemail, guiltily thankful that he hadn’t actually answered the phone, telling him that Oliver wanted her help on a mission and she was heading to Metropolis for a week or so; oh, and not to worry, she’d be fine. She’d reassured Bobby, telling him she’d keep him informed, and left him with a hug, driving away in the Jeep he’d refitted with a weapons cache in the back, fully stocked. An early Christmas gift, he’d called it.

She’d only talked to Dean once since then; he’d returned her call just before a Justice League meeting so she’d only had a few minutes to fill him in. The conversation had been a little stilted; he was clearly not thrilled that she was back in Metropolis without him. She tried to convince him that everything was fine, she’d be fine, but the start of the meeting cut the call short, leaving both sides a little unhappy. They’d traded voicemails since then; apparently there was definitely a werewolf, and he was trying to make a family for himself. Dean and Sam were having to track down everyone who was being bitten, and still hadn’t found the culprit, so taking time out for phone calls was impossible.

Chloe pushed open the door to the diner that was just a few blocks from The Daily Planet building. She found Clark already sitting at a table, reading a book and scribbling notes on a piece of paper. Chloe could tell he was writing faster than the usual human speed, but not enough that it would catch anyone’s attention.

“Hey, Clark!”

Clark looked up from his work, a big smile on his face, and stood to envelop her in a hug. “Chloe! I’m so glad – wait, what happened to your cheek?” Chloe pulled back to see he was staring at her cheek, frowning. “How did you get a cut like that?” he asked, almost accusingly.

Chloe gave him her best, unconcerned smile. “It’s just a scrape, nothing to worry about, Clark. It’s so good to see you, again. What are you working on?”

Clark gave her a reproving look. “It’s just research for an article about updates to the city sewer system, not exactly worthy of ‘above the fold’. Now tell me why you’ve got a cut on your cheek and why that Winchester guy let it happen when he’s supposed to be watching out for you.”

Chloe rolled her eyes, but was thankful her long sleeves covered the similar cuts on her arms. “I just got a little too ‘up close and personal’ on a job; seriously, Clark, it’s nothing to worry about. And Dean kept anything worse from happening.” She emphasized Dean’s name pointedly, but Clark just grunted, unconvinced.

“Where is he now?”

“He and Sam are in Pennsylvania, checking out some leads. I just came down to help coordinate the mission last night, but I was glad to be able to listen in on the JLA meeting. Has Oliver told you about his plans to expand, maybe even set up Watchtowers in different parts of the country, not just Metropolis and Star City?”

“Yeah, he mentioned that to me. Sounds like he’s starting to round up more members, too. I don’t know how he manages to find them all.”

“Apparently there’s one member who’s holding out on him.”

Clark smiled ruefully. “He has been pushing me to get more involved. Did he ask you to try to convince me?”

Chloe smiled back. “He did, but I told him you’d make up your mind on your own.” Clark nodded gratefully and she continued, “Oliver did tell me that you’ve been more active in the city lately, something about a red and blue blur?”

Clark ducked his head, embarrassed. “Yeah, well, it seemed like the right thing to do. Too many people are being taken advantage of by criminals, and if I can put a stop to it, then I should try.”

“You sound like Oliver,” Chloe said softly, and Clark looked at her, pursing his lips, then sighed.

“Fine,” he said. “I’ll go to the next meeting.”

Chloe laughed. “That’s the spirit.”

\-------------------------------------------------------------

“You worried about Chloe?”

Dean gave him a sideways glance. “Not exactly,” he replied flatly, clearly preferring that the subject be dropped, but Sam wasn’t done.

“You’re afraid she’ll want to stay in Metropolis.”

Dean huffed out a breath. “It was fine when she was at Bobby’s – she was just resting up, but still in it. Now she’s home, with her friends. Remember that Kent guy? He’s probably telling her right now that she should stay.”

“Dean, Chloe loves you, man. She’s not gonna leave you for him.”

Sam received a withering look from Dean. “As if,” he scoffed, but Sam could hear the underlying worry.

\-------------------------------------------------------------

Over the next couple days, Chloe worked on a project that she’d been turning over in her mind for some time. She was missing Dean and Sam terribly, and wanted to go back to South Dakota, but she was trying to wait out Lois, who was on assignment a few cities away. Lois was due back this week, and made Chloe promise to wait so they could at least have a day together before Chloe left town again. Despite working on both her project and her articles, Chloe found herself bored; with Clark busy working and Lois and Oliver both out of town, there was very little to do. She found herself wishing she was back in the Impala, listening to her boys bicker good-naturedly over the thrum of the engine. She’d finally had another short conversation with Dean; apparently they’d tracked down all the newly made werewolves and were now on the trail of the one causing all the trouble.

At eleven o’clock at night, ten hours before Lois was supposed to arrive home, Chloe found herself staring out the windows of the Watchtower, lonely. Not able to stand it anymore, she grabbed her cell phone and called Dean. She was disappointed to hear his voicemail pick up, but decided leaving a message was better than nothing.

“Hey, it’s me. Just thought I’d check in. Actually, I’m kind of bored. And, I miss you. A lot. Tell Sam I miss him, too. Okay, yeah, that’s kind of girly; you don’t really have to tell him that.” Chloe paused for a moment before continuing. “I love you, Dean. We don’t say it much, ‘cause you don’t do the ‘caring and sharing’ thing, and that’s okay, really, but…I do. I just want you to know it. I wish I were with you now. Metropolis doesn’t feel like home anymore. You’re my home. Anyway, like I said, I just wanted to check in. Call me. Bye.”

Chloe snapped her phone shut, then thought back over what she had said. She rolled her eyes and pushed away from the window. “You told him you’d be fine alone. Doesn’t sound like it now,” she muttered to herself.

\------------------------------------------------------------

Two days later she was packing her clothes, trying to eliminate the number of sweaters and coats that threatened to take over all the space in her bags. She’d spent the previous day with Lois, having lunch and window shopping, and enduring Lois’s questions about the Winchesters, Dean in particular. It had been fun, but Chloe was more than ready to be on her way. She piled her bags by the door and walked through all the rooms, making sure that everything was shut off or locked, as necessary. She was checking the coffee maker in the kitchen when the bell indicating someone was on the elevator rang, and she hurried back out to the main room to find Dean’s face staring at her from the monitor, smirking directly at the camera. She hurried to the door, opening her side so he could step through, then hugged him tightly, burying her face in his neck. His arms tightened around her immediately, and they stood wrapped around each other, unmoving, for a long moment.

Finally, when Chloe was sure she wouldn’t embarrass herself by bursting into tears, she lifted her head and pushed back a little to see his face. “Where did you come from?”

“Pennsylvania.”

Chloe grinned. “You should have called me.”

“Didn’t want to ruin the surprise. You ready to come home?”

There was an underlying tone to the word “home,” and Chloe suddenly remembered the message she had left him, and what she had said. She looked carefully at Dean, noticing his relaxed stance and unusually soft green eyes, and felt her heart stutter in her chest.

“Yes, I am,” she replied, certainty in her voice. Dean just nodded, but he was smiling back at her, and it occurred to Chloe they probably looked like a pair of fools, staring and grinning at each other.

“This your stuff?” he asked, arm sweeping to indicate the bags by the door.

“Yes,” Chloe replied, still too caught up in her happiness at his presence to remember the papers she had sitting on top of her bags, until she noticed his eyes catch on one of the words.

“What’s this?” Dean asked, frowning as he picked up the papers, noticing the name ‘Winchester’ in several places.

“Oh! Well, that was going to be a surprise, but I guess I can go ahead and tell you.” She took the papers out of his hand, shuffling though them. “You know, the JLA is starting to get bigger, work a little more in the open, get a little more notice, that sort of thing. Oliver has been recruiting new members, and as Green Arrow, has been making contact with some of the federal agencies, helping them out here and there, trying to make sure we’re recognized as the good guys.”

Chloe was smiling brightly now, but Dean was looking at her suspiciously. “Recruiting new members? You’re not trying to put me in some kind of crazy costume are you? ‘Cause you know, a leather fetish in the bedroom is one thing; running around in public…”

Chloe laughed. “No, no costumes, Dean. Oliver thinks we do enough good to be on the payroll, but it’d be kind of hard to convince the FBI we’re the good guys if they recognize you as one of their most wanted. So Oliver helped me pull a few strings, and guess what? You get to be Dean Winchester again. All charges have been dropped, and you and Sam have been erased from the criminal databases.” Chloe handed him two sheets of paper; looking down, Dean saw they were copies of his and Sam’s birth certificates. He stared down at them for a moment, then looked back up at Chloe, whose eyes were shining with excitement as she continued.

“Of course, if you get caught for credit card fraud again, you’d end up with another record, but that really shouldn’t be necessary now, and having the backing of the JLA could help get us out of tight spots, as long as we don’t rely on that too much…” Chloe trailed off as she noticed Dean just staring at her, and began to look a little worried. “Dean, are you okay? Maybe I should have checked with you first, but I just thought it would be so much easier without worrying about the police or the FBI being on the look out for you –“ Chloe’s voice cut off once again, this time because Dean leaned down and kissed her, hard.

“Thank you,” he whispered against her lips.

“You’re welcome,” she replied, smiling.

After a moment, he released her and looked down into her face, contemplatively. “You’re right, this will make things much easier.”

“Yeah, it’ll be nice for you to use your own last name again.”

“Actually, I was wondering if you would like to.”

“Like to what? Use your last name?” Chloe asked, a little perplexed.

“Yeah.” His face was impassive, but his eyes were focused intensely on hers. Her expression changed to one of surprise as she realized what he meant.

“Dean, I…are you asking what I think you’re asking?”

“Chloe Winchester…I think it has a nice ring to it.”

Chloe stared at him, a smile slowly spreading across her face. “So do I.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Dean nodded slowly, doing his best to hold back the enormous grin that was threatening to break. “Awesome. Who knew I would end up marrying a smart chick?”

He was fully prepared for the armful of blonde that tackled him to the ground, and didn’t bother hiding his grin any longer.


End file.
